


Happily Forsworn

by Elpin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry, Daddy Draco, Dark Mark, Eventual Romance, Healer Hermione, Healers, M/M, Muggle Life, Mystery, Post-War, alternative reality, events seventh year differ in some ways that will be alluded to, post—hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-17 13:34:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1389604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elpin/pseuds/Elpin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years have passed since Draco Malfoy took the Dark Mark. The war is long over, and Draco has been banished to the muggle world. As he and several other Death Eaters start to feel a burning pain, they realise that for some unknown reason, the Dark Mark has awoken, and it's slowly killing them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Awakening

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alafaye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alafaye/gifts).



> For alafaye, because I failed to fulfill her prompt. This was the closest I could get- which isn't really close at all. It's been a while since I wrote H/D. Apologies, hope this makes up for it - it'll be longer than a oneshot at least :)
> 
> Notes/warnings on story: It has been really long since I wrote HP, so my style might have changed. Be warned for a child character, shameless sympathy for Draco, and little regard for canon.
> 
> Extra note: The title is in reference to Shakespeare's sonnet # 66, which includes the line "And purest faith unhappily forsworn." Take what interpretations you will from it.

'Another one?' Hermione asked as one of her medi-witches helped an elderly wizard down the corridor to one of the empty rooms. She frowned at the man, whose gaze was fixed on the floor, left hand clutching his right arm in pain. 'What's your name?' It frightened her that there were so few she recognised. Even after the round-up was declared finished, there were still so many unaccounted for.

'Gansum, Ma'am, Aurelius,' the man mumbled. He didn't seem the right sort, but then fewer and fewer did these days. People moved on, or served their time, or had not really been guilty in the first place.

'Give him a pain potion and take a sample,' she told the medi-witch as she wrote down his name on her scroll. She let go of it, letting it roll up magically and stuff itself into her robe pocket. She put her pen - she had stopped using quills during her first year at St. Mungo's - into her breast pocket.  
She walked down the hallway, noting with distress how full the ward was getting. Ten years had passed since the height of Voldemort's power. About a year ago the first case had been identified in Azkaban. The guards had been reluctant to release their prisoner, but the nature of the affliction was of great concern.

The Dark Mark was painful. It had begun with a dull throbbing, and grown steadily in intensity until it was like Voldemort was holding down on a button connected to the Mark. They had been at a total loss since it was clear the Mark was not calling the follower anywhere. Voldemort was dead. Harry had never been in doubt of that, thank Merlin. But no one else was using it either. It was as if it had come alive on its own.

One month later and the man had died. He had been in great pain, then the Mark had glowed green, and he had simply died.

By that time, three more prisoners had started feeling the same. They all lived one month.

The Ministry wasn't too concerned, as usual, with Death Eater prisoners. But Hermione had been terrified of the implications. She knew, as all those who had been in the thick of things at the time, that not all of Voldemort's followers deserved punishment of any sort. The Ministry itself had granted more pardons than sentences, if they cared to remember. Thankfully, Harry had pressured them into letting him use Auror resources to track down those pardoned, and find those with painful Marks.

The most bizarre thing about it was that the affliction seemed to pick them out at random. Hermione was working day and night with samples from all of them, but Voldemort's magic had never been easy to unravel, even for someone like Dumbledore. She had specialized in healing magic after the war, as a way to deal with all the death. Most Dark Arts experts she tried to consult with were less that interested in researching a cure for dying Death Eaters. Even in the free society they had fought to create, prejudices lingered. Sometimes it made her so angry she wanted to scream and curse.  
She stopped by the door to a young man, no older than herself. The child of a Death Eater, forced to take the Mark when barely a man. A Durmstang student, if she remembered correctly. Acquitted after the war with no objections, yet no one seem to want to help him now.

'Healer Weasley?'

She spun to address the medi-witch, who was holding the hand of a small boy. He was a cute little thing, with platinum blond hair combed back neatly. He wore muggle clothes, brown corduroy trousers, matching shiny shoes, a button-down blue shirt and a yellow raincoat. He was barely ten, and seemed shy yet determined.

'Who is this?' she asked.

'He says his name is,' the medi-witch's voice dropped, 'Scorpius Malfoy.' Hermione's eyes widened to saucers as she looked down at the boy. He ducked his head.

Draco Malfoy had a son? A son who was almost ten? It didn't make sense. Who, not to mention when? Those questions were pushed to the side when Hermione realised what his presence meant.  
'Malfoy is-?'

The medi-witch nodded. She looked down at the boy and prompted him to tell Hermione what he had told her. He took a deep breath and looked up.

'Please, Ma'am, my father is sick. I know it's magical cause he keeps touching his mark.' The boy pointed at his right forearm. 'He won't come to the hospital. He doesn't know I'm here.'

'How did you get here?' Hermione asked. A boy so young should not be floo'ing alone- then again, she didn't think Malfoy had a floo these days.

'The train, Ma'am,' the boy said. 'And the bus, then I walked the last bit.'

'The bus… the muggle bus?' The boy nodded.

Hermione had not felt so floored in a long time. She knew, of course, that Malfoy had not been acquitted after the war. This was not due to any action on his part, but his father's crimes. It was simply the Ministry unwilling to let a Malfoy go. Harry had been livid when they had announced Draco would be among those chosen for the alternative punishment. A ban on magic for the rest of his life. His wand was broken, and he was forbidden to use magical artefacts or even transportation. At least they hadn't taken his fortune, Hermione had thought at the time. He could live his life out comfortably at Malfoy Manor. But he had surprised them by levelling the whole place to rubble and selling the land. No one had seen or heard from him in over eight years.

Hermione kneeled in front of the boy so she could look at him levelly.

'How long has he been in pain, do you know?'

'At least a week,' the boy said. 'He takes, um, pain medicine, but it doesn't work for very long.'

'Do you know your address?'

'Of course,' the boy seemed offended that he didn't know, and that tiny moment when he raised his chin slightly proved without a doubt he was Draco's son. Hermione smiled.

'Good. My name is Hermione Weasley. I went to school with your father.'

'You went to Hogwarts?' the boy's eyes widened.

'Yes, indeed. I need you to take my hand. We're going to get a friend of mine, and then we are going to help you father, all right?' He took the proffered hand without hesitation, and Hermione gave the medi-witch a few instructions for the ward. They went upstairs to the lobby and floo'd directly to the Ministry Atrium.

Visitors weren't suppose to be able to just waltz into the Auror Department, but Hermione was friend and wife to the two top Aurors, and regularly had tea with the Head Auror. They waved her past the moment she said it was an emergency.

Harry was with several Aurors, including Ron, in his office. Both of them jumped up when Hermione knocked and entered without waiting.

'Hermione, what-' Ron spotted the boy. 'Who's this?'

'I'll introduce you, once we're alone.' Harry quickly cleared the room. Through all this, Scorpius simply observed his surroundings, seeming quite awed for the child of a wizard. The realisation made Hermione sad.

'This is Scorpius Malfoy,' she introduced, gratified that the two were just as shocked, but also not suspicious. They both greeted the boy the same as they would any ten-year-old.

'Oh, Merlin,' Harry made the connection first. 'Is Draco?'

'Yes, I think we should all go see him. According to Scorpius, he might not want to come to St. Mungo's.'

'Hardly surprising, considering,' Ron muttered.

Scorpius told them the address, and they all quickly headed for the Atrium.

'Are we going to Apparate?' Scorpius asked.

'Yes, have you done that before?' Hermione asked.

'No, best to take a breath in, right?'

'That's right.' Scorpius beamed and took a big breath. Hermione popped them away.

They arrived on a very charming little street somewhere not far from Canterbury. The lane was flanked by well-trimmed hedges and despite the rain, it was very pretty. The houses were semi-detached and made of brick. Two stories and fairly narrow. It was very muggle middle-class, though Hermione would deny thinking like that.

'It's this one,' Scorpius said, leading Hermione by the hand. They went through a small gate and up to a blue door. Scorpius took out a key and unlooked it. Inside was a small entrance hall with stone tiles and a shoe rack. Scorpius immediately hung up his wet raincoat in what looked like his "spot", putting away his shoes underneath in a small cubby. He gestured quickly with his hand for them to follow as he hurried silently down the hallway.

'Father?' he called softly. They passed the kitchen. It was small, but well-maintained. Hermione almost did a double take at the sight of all the muggle appliances, but reminded herself of why they were here.

They reached what had to be the sitting room. There was a door with glass panels, set ajar. Scorpius stuck his head in. 'Father?' He went inside.

Hermione followed first.

The sitting room was almost disturbingly normal. A big flatscreen television stood against the wall, beside a large cabinet full of frozen pictures and knick-knacks. The far wall was a large window with a door out to the back garden. There was a desk in one corner with a computer of all things. In the middle of the room, facing the television, was squashed sideways a large comfortable sofa. On it lay Draco Malfoy, his right arm hanging limply to his side. A small side-table held several bottles. Potion bottles. Medicine indeed. Hermione was relieved to be honest. An utterly muggle-dwelling Draco Malfoy would have been too much.

'Father?' the boy was nudging his Dad- Draco Malfoy was a dad, Hermione just fully realised. They couldn't see anything except his arm from where they stood behind the sofa. Scorpius' face was becoming increasingly sad and guilty.

'Scorpius?' Draco's voice sounded so old! Well, no older than theirs, she was certain, but there was just something strange hearing that usually high-pitched whine sound so manly, almost.

'I'm really sorry, Father,' Scorpius said. 'But I had to bring someone. You're in so much pain, and I- I'm so afraid. I went to St. Mungo's. I found someone to help you. Please, I'm sorry.' He was close to tears, and Hermione almost spoke up to tell him it was all right, and if Draco said anything to the contrary she would punch him again.

'Shhh, it's fine, come on, crook,' Draco mumbled. Scorpius immediately climbed up on the sofa and lay down on Draco's left side, squishing himself in between his father and the back of the sofa. Hermione slowly rounded the side of it. Scorpius was laying with his head on Draco's chest, and Draco stroked his hair with his good arm. 'It's OK,' he whispered. 'Just don't run off into the city ever, ever, ever again, all right?'

'I promise,' Scorpius said.

Draco looked horrible. He was pale and shaking ever-so-slightly, probably due to too many pain potions. Hermione tried to see past the sickness and saw a man grown into himself. He was almost broad, but still slim enough to be closer to Harry than Ron in shape. He wore dark slacks and a white button down, the sleeve rolled up to reveal an angry Dark Mark.

'Malfoy,' she said as softly as she could. He slowly raised his gaze to them. 'Scorpius was concerned about you.'

'And you came?'

'Of course we did,' she told him a bit sternly. 'Malfoy, how long has this been going on?'

'A week,' he said. 'It was just a tingling at first, but now it's like a headache that never goes away. The worst headache I've ever had.'

'You need to come with us to St. Mungo's.'

'No, thank you.'

'You aren't the only one affected.' This was a surprise to Draco, who frowned down at his Mark.

'And you don't know how to fix it?'

'Not yet.'

'Then I reiterate, no thank you.'

'Malfoy, we'll drag you there if we have to,' Ron said.

'Ronald, honestly,' Hermione said.

'He's right, we will,' Harry said quietly.

'Look, your son is worried. I'm sure he would feel much better if you were in our care. You're going to run out of pain potions eventually, and you aren't in a fit state to brew more.'

'Going to turn me in, Granger?'

'It's Weasley these days, and of course not. Now stop being silly. Do you need help getting up?'

'No,' Draco sighed. 'Just give me a moment. Scorpius, would you run upstairs and fetch… some things.'

'I'll pack a bag,' Scorpius said, gently climbing over his father and hurrying upstairs at a speed known only to ten-year-olds.

'Tell me honestly,' Draco said. 'The others, how long?'

'A month,' Hermione admitted.

'Great.'

'We're doing everything we can,' she lied.

'Of course.'

'I have to ask,' Ron said suddenly. 'Who is his mother?'

'None of your business, Weasley,' Draco grumbled, but with only half of the usual strength.  
'No, it's not,' Harry said. 'But we do need to know if the worst happens.'

'I'm afraid it won't help. She's gone, and she made it clear she never wanted to see or hear from either of us again.'

'How could a mother do that?' Hermione asked.

'A mother, perhaps not, a teenager? I don't blame her. She left him on my doorstep when he was two, with a note that said she was off to see the world and never coming back.'

'Who?' Ron asked.

'Doesn't matter.'

Scorpius came running back with a small overnight bag with some sort of sports logo on it.

'I should call Mr. Keller and tell him we'll be gone.'

'Give me the phone,' Draco said.

'No, I'll do it.' Scorpius went to the television table and picked up a cordless phone. He quickly dialled the number.

'Who is Mr. Keller?' Hermione asked.

'Neighbour,' Draco said. 'He feeds the cat whenever we're gone. Gets the mail.'

'Oh.' The level of surreality just kept rising. Draco made it seem like they went away, like a family, on a holiday or something. She was quickly realising she was full of preconceptions about Draco's life after the war. She had been picturing bitterness and illegal wands, but instead he had, in a word, adapted. Draco Malfoy had adapted to the muggle world.

'Hello, Mr. Keller, it's Scorpius. Father needs to go to the hospital for a bit. No, there's a- a nurse here to help us. It's nothing serious. Yes, could you? Thank you, Mr. Keller, I'll call as soon as we're back.' Scorpius hung up and smiled at them. 'We can go now.'

Draco sat up at that and slowly rose to his feet. He was weak, and Hermione could tell Ron wanted to take him by the arm.

'End of the garden is unwarded. Best to leave unseen.'

They slowly escorted Draco to the edge of a well trimmed garden, complete with tiny duck pond. Scorpius took Hermione's hand again, the bag in the other, and Harry took a gentle hold of Draco's left arm. 'Are you ready?'

'You don't-' Ron coughed. 'You don't have a wand on you? Because someone at-'

'No, I haven't used a wand since they broke mine.' Finally, a little bitterness, but not nearly as much as Hermione had expected. The comment was far more subdued than that. Scorpius did not seem at all surprised by the comment.

They apparated to St. Mungo's. Hermione and Scorpius led the way. A medi-witch greeted them in the Death Eater ward.

'Is that him?' she asked.

'Yes, register him in room 3421,' she said. 'This way,' she told the others.

Scorpius hovered uncertainly while they helped Draco into bed. He refused to take off his clothes, so that would have to wait. Once settled, Scorpius set the bag down and sat on the chair provided for visitors. He looked more worried than ever before. Seeing his father in an actual hospital bed must have made it all the more serious.

'Crook,' Draco said suddenly, and Scorpius sat up straight. 'Left side,' Draco said, and Scorpius hurried round the bed and climbed up, laying down with Draco's left arm around him, head on his father's chest.

'Oh, crook of the arm,' Ron said. 'Just got it.'

'I will be back to do some tests,' Hermione said. 'Do you need any pain potion right now?'

'No, it's tolerable at the moment.'

'Ring the bell if you need anything.'

'Thank you.' The last was mumbled as the three of them left the room. Hermione glanced back as she closed the door. Father and son were almost asleep already.

She sighed as she turned to her husband and friend. Both of them were sporting sad and confused looks.

'I thought when they sentenced him to no magic, he would either wither away or stupidly defy them until they threw him in Azkaban,' Harry admitted.

'I thought he'd just move to France or something,' Ron said.

'I think we always underestimated his strength,' Hermione said.

'I can't believe Malfoy's a dad,' Ron said. 'And a good one.'

'Just do the exact opposite of Lucius Malfoy,' Harry muttered, 'a recipe for success, that.'

'Let's put all that aside,' Hermione said. 'Focus on the task at hand.'

'Do you have the list of patients?' Harry asked.

'Yes, I have a copy of all, dead and alive,' she fished out the list and gave it to him. Harry scanned the names, his frown growing steadily more grim.

'Karkaroff isn't on here,' he said.

'No, he's still in Azkaban, but he is dying of old age and poor conditions,' the last bit was said reproachfully, though the Ministry would never bother to hear it.

'And no Nott senior,' he said. 'Or Goyle… or Crabbe.'

'None of the father's of Death Eaters?' Ron asked.

'No, there are others here with sons. Both Kopytoffs, for example.'

'Well, it's no discerner of age,' Ron said.

'Right, Shanche was eighty when he died,' Hermione said.

'But when did he join?' Harry asked. 'He wasn't with the original Death Eaters. He joined after Voldemort's second coming. I remember his trial.'

'You think it's affecting everyone who took the Mark the second time?'

'It would explain why Lucius Malfoy isn't on this list.'

'It's the only thing that connects them all.'

'Are you sure?' Ron asked, scrutinizing the list in Harry's hand. 'What about Jasinski?'

'I don't remember.'

'But it's worth checking,' Hermione said, feeling like they might finally be getting somewhere. 'You take the list and double check every name. I'll start on Draco's tests.' They all went into their new tasks with slightly renewed optimism.


	2. The Records

Harry was halfway down the hallway of St. Mungo's when he paused. Ron noticed three steps later and turned. 

'What's the matter?' 

'We should ask Draco first.' 

'He's not in a fit state,' Ron argued. 'Let's get this theory on solid ground first.' 

'I'll just be a moment. You go on ahead.' 

Ron sighed and trudged along, while Harry hurried back, glad Hermione was nowhere to be seen. He entered Draco's room, his heart clenching at the scene. Draco had never been sweet, not in Harry's world. Even at his most pathetic, he had garnered more pity than sympathy. Harry had argued on his behalf during the trial, but that was down to duty. He hated the idea that Draco would be sent to Azkaban for Lucius' decisions. 

Sins of the father, and all that. 

Ron was right, though, they had all thought he'd run off to France or Italy at the first opportunity. Maybe marry a pureblood that wasn't too up on current events in Britain. 

There was a distinct feeling of guilt welling up inside him, Harry realised as he stared at the pair, one the miniature of the other. He did not like to think of himself as holding prejudices anymore. 

'Did you want something?' Draco's voice sounded on the brink of sleep and Harry winced at having to bother him. 

'Sorry, yes,' he said, approaching the bed, keeping his voice low. 'I need you to look at this list. Tell me if anyone you know might be missing.' 

'I don't know all Death Eaters,' Draco said as he took the list with his right hand, the Mark blinking with a strange shine to it. 

'Just anyone you might have taken the Mark with.' 

Draco frowned as he scanned the list. Scorpius's head rose and fell with his father's chest. Harry knew he wasn't asleep, though. 

'Nott isn't on here,' he said at last. 

'We know,' Harry said. 'He's still in Azkaban. Hasn't shown symptoms.' 

'No, I mean Theo Nott.' 

'Theodor Nott died in the war,' Harry said slowly, wondering if the pain was affecting Draco's mind. 

'No, he didn't,' Draco sighed. 'He faked his own death. Escaped. I swore I wouldn't tell a soul.' 

'You-' Harry was stumped. Theodor Nott alive. His mind spun with the implication that more could have done the same. Some of them might be real Death Eaters. 'Do you know where he might be now?' 

'I didn't keep in touch,' Draco said, exasperated. 'I suspect he went to Ukraine or Romania. I know his family had assets in both countries. They used to summer near Kiev.' 

'Right, I'll look into it.'

'You think his Mark is active as well?' Draco sounded close to falling asleep, and Harry was starting to feel really confused about just how bad he felt for disturbing him. 

'I have a theory.' 

'Will wonders never cease?' Draco's eyes were fluttering close as he spoke. He looked very vulnerable. More so than at his worst after the war. Something about that small blond head on his chest, and a small hand clutching at his shirt. Draco couldn't die, Harry realised. During the war, he could have. No one would have missed him- not after Narcissa was gone. A horrible thought, but accurate. He did not have that luxury anymore. 

'Three years of Auror training did beat some smarts into me,' Harry said. 

'Minimal requirement, I imagine,' Draco snorted softly. 

'Probably, I never checked the results. Rest now,' Harry said. 'I'll come back when I have some information.' He knew it wasn't his job to keep Draco informed, but for some reason he felt it was owed. He left quietly, walking down the hall in a way that those around him thought brooding and slightly intimidating. 

XXX 

Going through the list turned out to be a hell of a lot easier said than done. The Ministry had not gotten any better at keeping records organized, and the state of the old records were even worse. Summoning spells were horrible. You were just as likely to get the person's brother's birth certificate or application for adding a wizard space to their shed from 1976. 

Some were ticked off immediately. Those Harry had seen during his glimpses into Dumbledore's pensive. But Voldemort's army was always bigger than anyone imagined. Harry doubted even the man himself had an actual account of all his followers. Sorting the old from the new, when age was not always a factor, was proving troublesome. 

Take Hemmendorff, for example. Old purebloods, part Swiss and Austrian. He was nonexistent in the Ministry's records, yet he was lying close to death in Hermione's ward. He was over seventy, and incoherent with pain, like most of them. A lot of foreigners had only joined during his second coming, however, so his age was not an indication of the length of his service. 

Then there was the fact that they would probably never know exactly how many Marks were active, especially now they knew for certain people like Nott got away without leaving a trace. For all they knew, a dozen old Death Eaters were sitting on Vanuatu drinking pumpkin tonics and overdosing on pain potions. They were working from incomplete data. How could they possibly figure it out within three weeks? 

That was the due date, Harry knew. It made determination and despair shoot through him in equal measures. Three weeks they had, and not a day longer. 

'I think I found the transcript to Tudderham,' Ron said. They had occupied one of the meeting rooms, towers of papers creating a fortress around them. 'It says he took the Mark at twenty.' 

'How old is he now?' 

'I don't know, he's marked as dead on the list.' 

'Do you remember-' 

'I can't remember seeing him once, let along what he looked like.' 

'Ask if someone on the team interviewed him. And make sure everyone knows from now on to ask when they took the mark, exactly,' Harry said pointedly. 'I'm making it standard procedure.' 

'Right you are, boss,' Ron said good-naturedly, gathering his papers and heading out to find the rest of their four man team. The Ministry was sometimes so incompetent it was impressive, Harry thought. Should it not have been one of the first questions during a trial? “When did you become a Death Eater?” seemed pretty damn important. But none of the trials followed any sort of script. Granted, at the time everyone had wanted to get the whole thing over and done with, and since most Death Eaters had already been on trial for the first war, their actions then weren't “relevant” to the new sentencing. It was like an invisible cut-off date in the records. But summoning trial records only gave you the latest, which meant finding the first trial manually. Or, if they were really lucky, the Death Eater hadn't even gone to trial the first time, like Lucius Malfoy.

Harry slowly lowered his head to the table. 

Maybe this theory wasn't worth it. It could be a dead end. They could be wasting their efforts while Draco lay dying. Three weeks wasn't nearly enough time to sort through this lot. 

Ron came back. 

'Jenkins says Tudderman looked about forty,' he said as he sat down. 

'That doesn't make sense,' Harry said. 'He would have been thirty during the height of Voldemort's last recruiting, but not even ten years old at his first defeat.' 

'Maybe the pain made him age,' Ron shrugged. 'I'm marking him down as Second War Recruit.' 

'But-' 

'We have to make some assumptions,' Ron said. 'This is logical.' 

'I know, I just want to be sure.' 

'We are being as sure as we can be.' 

'Right.' 

They both went back to their papers for a while. Ron summoned coffee for them. It would be another long night. Jenkins and Gale were out re-interviewing the few who could form sentences.

'This is hopeless,' Harry said, almost ripping the scroll he was currently holding. 'These records don't make sense. I think it's two brothers, twins. Merlin, save me from Ministry fuck ups.' 

'Give them here.' Harry handed over all the records. 

'Well, one of them certainly had a trial in 1981,' Ron said. 'Which one is in St. Mungo's?' 

'I don't know. He's dead, and the other died in the war. There's one death certificate from 1999. Merlin knows who for. Might be they were both always Death Eaters, but only one got caught the first time!' 

'We'll put him aside for now,' Ron said. 'Focus on the easier one first.' 

'There are no easy ones left.' 

'OK, I think we need a break.' 

'I can't stop,' Harry said, checking the next name of Hermione's list and beginning to summon what he could. 'We've only got three weeks. 

Ron paused with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth, setting it down slowly. 

'Mate, the chances of solving this in three weeks...' 

'We are going to solve this in three weeks, Ron,' Harry said, unrolling scroll after scroll, and discarding them one by one. Useless Ministry, he thought. 

'Of course,' Ron said. He nodded. 'All right, three weeks. I get it.' 

'Do you?' 

'I know you felt you didn't do right by Malfoy.' 

'It's not about that.' 

'Is it about the boy?' 

'No-' Harry shook his head. 'Maybe.'

'Then let's get to work.' They went back to their scrolls with coffee-provided energy. 

XXX 

Draco woke up in pain, like he had been doing for the past week. He blearily opened his eyes and took in the dull off-white of the hospital room, the only colour a pale pink on the curtains hung in front of a magical window, showing a grey London in the rain. Scorpius was making his left arm fall asleep, but he wouldn't move him. His warmth was so comforting compared to Draco's exposed right forearm. 

He tried to ignore the pain, willing the potion to last just a little bit longer. Eventually he started squirming. 

'Should I get the medi-witch?' Scorpius asked, raising his head. 

'No-' Draco sighed. 'In a moment.' He squeezed his son close, wishing they could just drift away again. Scorpius clung to him. 'I'm sorry you felt you had to go behind my back.' 

'I wouldn't have, but you were sleeping all day.' 

'I know. It was stupid of me not to go sooner.' 

'You're not mad?' 

'I'm horrified you went all the way to London alone,' Draco said. 'Did no one stop you?' 

'No. A couple old ladies asked where I was going, but I just said you were meeting me at the next stop.' 

'You're too clever for your own good.' He kissed the top of Scorpius's head just as Healer Weasley came in. There was a sight he thought he'd never see, and it wasn't the fact that the mauve healer robes weren't horrible looking on her. Little snotty Granger, all mature and married, and Chief Healer of a St. Mungo's ward. He would have guessed politics, had anyone asked. The image of the know-it-all with a bush for hair was outdated, however, even before Draco went into the muggle world. He had seen all three of them do battle, barely seventeen. 

'I thought you might need another pain potion by now,' she said, setting the bottle on the side-table. 'Can you sit up?' 

'I'm not quite that infirm yet,' he said, but Scorpius still tried to help him sit up, even fluffing his pillow, which he could admit was needed. She handed him a small cup with a measure of pain potion. Not nearly enough, in his view, but now that he knew what fate lay waiting, he knew they were probably limiting the amount so he didn't develop a resistance. 

The throbbing subsided to manageable levels. 

'Mind if I do a few tests now?' She asked, wand already at the ready. He nodded, and Scorpius got off the bed so she could do her waving. He only recognised a handful of the spells she used. He tried not to let that bother him. Even if he hadn't lost his wand, he still would never have become a healer. 

'Can you tell what's wrong?' Scorpius asked, watching the wand-waving with interest. Another sore spot. He could show the boy brewing and all kinds of books on magic, but he couldn't demonstrate the simplest Wingardium Leviosa for him. He wasn't even the first to Apparate first with him. And he probably wouldn't be the first to see him fly. He would do all that at Hogwarts. Just one year left until Scorpius could enter the world that Draco was barred from. 

But he had made peace with that, as best he could. 

'I can tell there is something wrong,' Healer Weasley said. 'But we don't understand it yet. But we will figure it out. This sort of magic is... difficult.' Scorpius nodded his understanding. 

'It's a vow mark,' he whispered. Weasley gave Draco a sharp look, as if to suggest he should be keeping his son ignorant of something he might see every day. Scorpius was ridiculously clever for his age – well, Draco thought so - but even if he was a dunderhead, Draco would never lie to him. He might not tell it all, but he wasn't going to pretend he just fancied a tattoo of a skull and snake. 

'Now,' Weasley said. 'I'll need to take a sample.' 

'How will you manage that?' Draco asked. 

'If I make a small enough incision at the very edge of the Mark, it won't react. Trust me, I've done this more than I care to count.' She bent over his forearm and pointed her wand at the tip of the snake's tail, whispering an incantation. There was a tiny snip – Draco didn't think he would have felt it if he hadn't been prepared – and a minuscule piece floated into the air. She caught it in a vial and corked it. He didn't even bleed. 

'Someone will be along with dinner in a moment,' she said. 'Ask for me if you need anything.' 

Draco didn't care to point out that the Chief Healer wasn't suppose to be at the beck and call of a single patient in a full ward. She took the pain potion bottle, said goodbye to Scorpius and left. 

As Scorpius climbed back up to find his spot, the only thing going through Draco's mind was a half-exasperated, half-impressed “Gryffindors, honestly...” 

'I brought our book,' Scorpius said. 

'Do you want to read to me?' At Scorpius nod, Draco directed him to fetch the novel. Scorpius sat on the edge of the bed cross-legged. Draco's mind soon drifted a bit, but Scorpius kept on until he knew his father was asleep. 

XXX 

The office was almost empty. Ron was rubbing his eyes, knowing Hermione was probably not home either. 

'Auror Potter?' Auror Gale stuck his head into the meeting room. 

'Unless I'm giving you orders, just call me Harry, or Potter at least,' Harry smiled, eyes tired. Gale nodded nervously. He and Jenkins were right out of Auror training – the only two to volunteer for Harry's taskforce. 

'Right, Sir, there's been a firecall from a woman, says her son has been in pain for a week, but that he won't go to St. Mungo's. The name is Ivo Northwode.'

'Same time as Malfoy,' Harry said. 

'I know that name,' Ron said, pulling the different lists to him. 

'Me too,' Harry said, searching his own papers. 

'Wasn't he on trial after the war?' Ron asked. 

'Yes, he was summarily acquitted,' Harry suddenly remembered. 'He was the youngest ever to take the Mark.'

'That's right, he was barely fifteen,' Ron recalled. 'Merlin.' 

'Let's go get him.' 

The young man was reluctant to go, thinking he would only face disgust at the hospital. Harry hated seeing someone so terrified of asking for help. His mother told him she couldn't get him out of the house on most days, he was so ashamed of the war. 

At St. Mungo's the medi-witches took good care of him. Hermione had also asked for volunteers for her new ward. It was only the Oath of Healing that had convinced the hospital to set up a separate ward for the Death Eaters. 

Harry went straight for Draco's room, while Ron stayed to have a few words with his wife. Draco was sitting up in bed, eating. Scorpius was seated in the chair, using the side-table for his own dinner. 

'Malfoy,' Harry greeted. He said hello to Scorpius as well, asking him if he liked the hospital food. Scorpius said it was the first elf-made food he'd ever had. Harry was about to answer him, when Draco stopped him. 

'Is there some news you need to tell me?' 

'Not news exactly,' Harry said. 'Do you remember a boy named Ivo Northwode?' 

'Yes, of course,' Draco said. His eyes grew distant. 'Barely fifteen, and yet we took the Mark together.' 

'Wait, together? At the same time?'

'That is what together means, last I checked.' 

'How long ago, exactly?' 

Draco eyes widened as he realised what Harry was getting at. 'It was on May first, ten years ago.'

'Three weeks from now, oh damn I've been stupid.' 

'I'd normally agree with you, but I've been blind as well.' 

'What's that mean?' Scorpius asked. 

'I don't know,' Harry said. He looked at Draco, knowing he wouldn't want his son to know everything. 

'Scorpius could you go outside for a moment. Harry and I need to discuss some things I'd rather you not hear yet.' 

'Yes, Father.' Scorpius took his dessert muffin and left. Harry paced the room, thoughts swirling.

'Why didn't I make the connection?'

'It's not as if you had a time table of the Dark Lord's initiation schedule.' Harry gave Draco an odd look at the way he almost defended him, but brushed it aside. 

'The Mark is killing people exactly ten years after they took the vow.' 

'Then Nott will already be dead,' Draco said suddenly. 'He took it two months before me.' 

'I'm sorry.' 

Draco shook his head, eyes closed. 

'I need to go, I need to tell the others.' 

'Of course.' 

'We'll get to the bottom of this before-' 

'Three weeks isn't enough.' 

'It'll have to be.' 

'I know you always win, Potter,' Draco said, smiling almost ruefully. 'But I won't blame you if you fail this time.' 

'Don't talk like that. You'd blame me for the weather if you wanted to.' 

'I think I did, once or twice, at school.' 

Harry shook his head, heading for the door. 

'If you don't-' 

'No talking like that,' Harry cut him off, pointing his Auror finger at him. 'There is time.' With that he let Scorpius back in the room and ran off to find Ron and Hermione. 

XXX 

They were in Hermione's office, cold tea in front each other them. They were each reading a scroll. Hermione was studying the latest tests. Harry was frowning at the patient list, and Ron was reading Gale's latest interviews. 

'It fits,' Ron said eventually. The others looked up. 'Most of the second wave recruits would have taken the Mark ten years ago to the date.' 

'We don't have anyone's exact date confirmed except Draco and Northwode,' Hermione pointed out. 

'Come on, you know this fits.' 

'But all our tests are inconclusive. What do we do with this information? Or theory, rather.' 

'We keep at it,' Harry said. 'The first thing to do is confirm with the others.'

'Others?' 

'The older Death Eaters. If they experienced this after ten years, I would guess somewhere between 1988 and 1991, then one of them might know what this is.' 

'And if they didn't?' Ron asked. 

'Then we will know he changed the spell.' Harry got up. 

'Harry, you have to go home and sleep,' Hermione used her mother voice. 

'No, I can check a few more names-' 

'Being dead on your feet won't help anyone.' 

'Come on, I'm escorting you home,' Ron said. 'I'll see you at home,' he told Hermione, leaning over the desk to give her a peck on the cheek. 

'Yes, Sir,' Harry said, but it was without humour. 'I'm heading straight to Hogwarts first thing.' 

'Oh, please, no, I think I'd rather go to Azkadan,' Ron groaned. 

'Then that can be your job,' Harry said, walking out of the office. 'Home it is.' Hermione smirked at Ron's betrayed look, but he followed without argument.

XXX 

Harry met with McGonagall the next morning, and explained the situation. She was appalled and immediately asked Severus' portrait if he knew anything about it. Harry kept his eyes slightly averted, as there was still a part of him who couldn't look the man in the eye, not after his last moments. 

'I am afraid I do not have all the information my physical counterpart was privy to, but I can tell you the Mark never came alive except when He called.' 

'What else, Severus?' McGonagall asked. 'I know there's more, I can tell.' 

'Lack of fine brush strokes,' Severus grumbled. 'But yes, there were changes made to the Vow. I do not know them, however. Voldemort always initiated his followers without witnesses.' 

'But you must have done research on the first Vow?' Harry asked. It occurred to him they had been so caught up in their own research and tests, they hadn't considered Severus might have done something similar decades ago. Maybe the answer lay in some sort of change. He would need Draco to describe the Vow in detail. Harry felt hopeful for the first time since the whole thing started. 

Severus gave a half-sneer at him, but kept his focus on McGonagall, probably to keep his temper in check. 

'Of course.' 

'Do you have his notes, Headmistress?' 

'Yes, they were all put in storage here at the school,' she said, going over to her desk. Although the office did not hold quite as many odd artefacts as when Dumbledore occupied it, the room still held the same warmth, certain portraits notwithstanding. 

She returned with a big brass key. 'They are all in his old office.' 

'You never cleared it?' 

'I reasoned few teachers would want- well, you know what people think.' They thought all wrong, Harry almost spat, but kept quiet. 

'I'm not going to be able to find anything down there, am I?' Harry asked, directing his question at both of them. Severus crossed his arms. 

'My filing system is impeccable, first closet on the left.' 

'I'll arrange for some tea,' McGonagall offered. Harry thanked her and started the long trek down to the dungeons. 

The halls were silent, it being too early even for breakfast. It was always bittersweet coming back to Hogwarts. The place where he had found his first home, but also where he had fought his first battle, lost his first friend, and killed his first enemy. 

The door to Severus' office was covered in a membrane of dust and cobwebs, as if the castle had tried to swallow it. Like a corner of a house best left forgotten. Harry unlocked it and used his wand to clear a way as you would through a jungle. 

It looked like a hundred years had passed. 

He ignored the potion shelves and desk, going straight to the closet. Inside he found floor to ceiling towers of papers and books. He sighed. Wizards, he thought, considering what summoning spell he should use. 

His first attempt gave him a treatise on binding potions, for use in construction work. The tower it flew from wobbled perilously, but stayed up. 

'Right,' Harry said, rewording his spell and trying again.


	3. The Marking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Latin spells provided by google translate. 
> 
> PS: My apologies for the sonnet. I'm a bit of a Shakespeare nerd. I love being inspired by the sonnets, so it was inevitable I would use them more directly in one of my fanfics. They can be skipped. If you would like to read them, but have trouble with the Shakespearean wording (which everyone has at first!) I highly recommend No Fear Shakespeare by SparkNotes. God, if I had had this resource when I was at school my life would have been so much easier!!! http://nfs.sparknotes.com/sonnets/

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,  
As to behold desert a beggar born,  
And needy nothing trimmed in jollity,  
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,  
And gilded honor shamefully misplaced,  
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,  
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,  
And strength by limping sway disablèd,  
And art made tongue-tied by authority,  
And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill,  
And simple truth miscalled simplicity,  
And captive good attending captain ill.  
  Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,  
  Save that to die, I leave my love alone.

Sonnet #66 

There was a knock on the door. No, a pounding, only the long distance made it faint. It echoed through the rooms and reached Draco Malfoy in the inner study. He was lying on a dusty divan in front of an empty fireplace, using his cloak as a blanket. There were several bottles of firewhiskey underneath, but he had not drunk of them for days. The potion bottles were the more worrisome. 

The room around him was deteriorating. The preservation charms on the bookshelves had failed and not been replaced. The large desk with carved snakes framing every corner was covered in papers, covered in dust. Beyond the study the rest of the house had been closed up long ago, and it had not been opened up at Draco's arrival. The furniture was covered by sheets, the chandeliers as well, but the charms against the sun had failed, the portraits were starting to fear bleaching.

Outside was another world, alive and so bright it would hurt Draco's eyes to look. The garden had overgrown, nature bursting its once well-trimmed demarcations. The path was still visible, winding its way to the edge of the cliff, and then down a stone-carved stair to the Mediterranean, which lay warm and blinking up at the house. 

Inside the curtains were drawn, and Draco slept. The two house-elves still in the Malfoy family's employ were pulling their ears in the kitchen – which was spotless of course. Every four hours or so they would try again to get Draco to eat something. Occasionally, he acquiesced, but most often he simply grunted and turned slowly in his sleep. 

This house he could stay in till the end. Malfoy Manor had been reduced to gravel, but this place had not housed evil. A few happy summers only. 

The knock – the pounding – came again, agitated, desperate. A house-elf popped into the study, wringing its ears. 

'Please, Master Malfoy, Sir, should Tilly get the door?' it squeaked. 

'No,' Draco grumbled. 

'Please, Sir,' the elf persisted. 'The baby cries so badly.' 

'Baby?' Draco opened his eyes. 'What baby?' 

XXX

_I was led to the study, where He waited. I was very nervous, but showed no fear. He asked Malfoy to leave us alone, which surprised me. I had assumed there would be witnesses. It was the first time we were alone together. He is unlike any man I have ever heard of. He smiled very kindly at me, which I appreciated but thought unnecessary. He explained in detail what his desires and plans were. It will be the biggest political upheaval since the days of Merlin. No other man could do it, that much I do know. I have gone over his doctrine before and so will not touch on it here._

_He asked if I was ready to pledge myself to his cause. If I wished to be part of the great undertaking that lay before us. I answered that I wished for nothing save to serve him, that he was the greatest wizard I knew. He said he did not want servants, but allies. He warned the Ministry might use force against us. I continued to answer in the affirmative. He accepted by allegiance._

_He asked me to extend my right arm and pull up my sleeve. He placed the tip of his wand against my skin. He whispered I spell, which I believe went as follows:_

_Auctoro probare_

_I understood it meant I should demonstrate my willingness to serve him. I have never heard of such a spell, but it does not surprise me that he is capable of creating a new spell. There were some doubts as to the exact wording, but at the time I had no time to consider them._

_'Do you give your magic and power, freely and willingly, and add your might to mine?'_

_'I do.'_

_'Do you bind yourself, and promise to come when I call upon you?'_

_'I do.'_

_'Good.'_

_He gave a smile then, and said the closing spell._

_Auctoro servus_

_I felt a pain shoot into my arm, and I fell to my knees, but He held my arm in a grip so tight I thought he might rip it off me. I had my eyes closed in pain, and I think I might have been screaming. The next moment everything went black, but it must have only been for a few seconds because when I opened my eyes I was still on my knees, and my arm was free. On the forearm had appeared his Mark, as Malfoy had showed me. It is a beautiful, if slightly disturbing design. Of more concern to me was the fact that I felt very drained, as though he had sucked several years of my life away._

_'You feel a bit faint,' he said, taking my arm and hauling me to my feet. 'That is normal. Go home and rest and you will feel much better tomorrow.'_

_'Yes,' I managed to mumble. As I left he turned me towards him and said 'I am very pleased to have you among us. I know you will do us proud, Severus.'_

_I should have felt elated, but I was too tired. In fact I was tired the morning after, and my spellwork felt off for days. I fear if I were to do research into spells of this kind, I might find something I would rather not know. It is too late now. It is done._

_But I must know what, exactly, has been done._

_Severus Snape._

Harry felt a bit short of breath after reading the account. It was one thing to see Severus do the right thing, but another to understand why he had ever been on the wrong side in the first place. It seemed so simple, the way he described it. Just a bunch of kids, really, becoming enamored by a charming older man who promised change and a chance to write themselves into the history books. 

'Harry? You in here?' Ron sounded like he'd rather enter a viper's nest. His voice startled Harry so much several papers flew off the desk. 

'I'm here,' Harry said, waving over the stacks of papers in front of him. 'Much good has it done me.' 

'You didn't find anything?' Ron eyed the jars and dried out ingredients on the shelves. 

'I found an account of the Vow, but no research. The account itself might be useful, though. It has the original spell.' 

'Why don't you let Hermione have a look. You know she's better at this.' 

'I just...' 

'Mate, you need a break, come on.' 

'I need to interview Draco again, anyway. I'll drop by and give Hermione what I've found.' 

He didn't like the look Ron was giving him as they left Hogwarts. He could guess why his friend was concerned, but he didn't know why this case was affecting him so much – well, he knew part of it. Self-analysis wasn't really his strong suit. Best to leave introspections for his off day, the next of which would be three weeks from now, when Draco was home safe. 

Hermione was very interested in Severus' account. All three of them decided to visit Draco right away to question him. 

When they opened the door, Harry couldn't help but smile bemusedly. Draco was reclining, propped up in bed half asleep, while Scorpius sat cross-legged at the end of it, head bent over a book as he read. 

He looked up when they entered, then glanced quickly to his father, checking if he was awake. 

'Mark our spot, Scorpius,' Draco said. Harry didn't like how tired he sounded in the middle of the day. 

'What are you reading?' Hermione asked Scorpius, who for some reason bit his lip and looked to Draco as if it was a secret. Draco smiled, and then Scorpius let out a tiny giggle. Harry exchanged a surprised glance with Ron.

'The Witches, by Roald Dahl,' Draco answered. Harry might have heard the name once, but anything else was gone from his mind. Ron had clearly never heard of it, but Hermione's mouth dropped open a bit. 

'You're reading a book about evil witches to your son?' she asked, slightly appalled. 

'I'm sure they're just misunderstood,' Draco said. Scorpius did not manage to hide his snort. 

'Malfoy, you can't be serious. Wait, you're not reading it to him to-' she stopped her said, making a half-hearted gesture. 'You know.' 

'I don't know, but I fear I might be able to guess, so no, I am not teaching my son about evil muggles through their misrepresentations of us in fiction.' The last was emphasized with some of his old snotty self, and Harry smiled, while Hermione blushed slightly at having yet again prejudged Draco since their reunion. 

'It's just fun,' Scorpius said. 'I love all of Roald Dahl's books, especially the one about the chocolate factory. Father says there's a shop in Hogsmeade that's almost like a Willy Wonka shop, only better cause it's magical. Have you been there?' Scorpius looked at each of them with hopeful eyes. 

'Honeydukes?' Ron asked. 'Yeah, they're the best.' 

'And the joke shop? The one in Diagon Alley? Father says we can go there when I turn ten.' 

'That's enough, Scorpius,' Draco cut in. 'I'm sure Potter and Company have something to tell us, otherwise they wouldn't have visited.' 

'You mean Zonko's? That's closed down,' Ron answered, ignoring Draco. 

'No, it's called Weasel or something-' Scorpius scrunched up his face to try and remember. 

'You've been to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes?' Ron asked Draco. 

'I'm not confessing to anything while not under oath.' 

'He gets all my birthday presents from there,' Scorpius said proudly. Draco closed his eyes and hung his head. 

'I've already told you,' Hermione said. 'We are not going to turn your in to the Ministry for owning a few magical artifacts.' 

'Oh, ops,' Scorpius said. 'Sorry, Father.' 

'Yes, thank you,' Draco told Hermione stiffly. 'Now, if we could get back to whatever it is you wanted?' 

'Yes, perhaps Scorpius could wait outside?' Hermione said. 

'I'll take him,' Ron said, before producing something from his pocket. 'See here, it's a Weasley Wizard Spinning Top, want to see it fly down the hallway?' 

'Yes! Can I try?' 

Ron nodded and Scorpius hopped off the bed and flew after him out the door before Draco could protest. He stared, mouth agape after them a moment, before composing himself. Harry couldn't help but think that fatherhood looked a lot better on Draco than anything else ever had. 

'I think it's very brave of you to keep the wizarding world in your son's life, considering how-'

'Yes, thank you again, Granger,' Draco cut in. Then he sighed. 'Thank you,' he said, calmer. 

'Sorry, I didn't mean to pry-' 

'If one more person says sorry or thank you, I might start thinking I'm loosing my mind,' Harry said, speaking for the first time, going for light-hearted, but ending up sounding a bit awkward. 

'Agreed,' Draco said, just a shudder, or perhaps a spasm, Harry wasn't sure if he wasn't trying to hide the amount of pain he was in. 

'Right, we have found Snape's first-hand account of when he took the vow. Could you read it and tell us how it differed from your own marking?' Hermione handed over the scroll and Draco read it with a grim face. 

XXX

Draco sat cross-legged on his bed, wringing his hands. He tried to keep calm, to just make his mind go blank, but the thought that soon he would have to look into those eyes and say “Yes” made it impossible.

He wanted to cry. He could feel the acid burn at the back of his throat, but he couldn't let it out. He didn't think he would ever let himself cry ever again. 

He knew with a certainty that was oddly calming that he would not live to old age. It was like a bubbling cauldron in the pit of his stomach. Just simmering really, but he knew it would bubble over at any moment. To know that whatever happened, it would not last forever, that was the only comfort he had.

He wished he could do something, anything, to make time stop, however. He kept replaying Severus' first speech to him during first year. 'Put a stopper on death.' Oh, that it had been time instead. What twaddle, but his young mind had been in awe. It was a deserved irony that he had longed to be grown as child, and now wished all his childish things were real. 

The door opened with a creek, far more slowly than it usually opened. Lucius appeared, tired and pale as he always was these days. There was no pride in his eyes as he said 'It is time.' 

Draco thought his legs might have fallen asleep from sitting crossed so long, but he stood without trouble. His legs seemed to cross the room without him. Lucius put a hand on his shoulder and steered him down the hallway, as if afraid he might make a run for it. 

At the bottom of the stairs a young boy stood, looking half dead. A young man, no more than forty, stood behind him with a proud smirk on his lips. Draco knew him – one of father's business partners – but had never met the boy. He went to Beauxbatons. The Northwodes had sworn off Hogwarts during the fifteenth century. 

They were both led to the study. Lucius opened the door wide. The Dark Lord's back was to them, and he was staring into the fireplace. Draco had never seen him so quiet. It was almost more unnerving than when he was screaming and torturing. 

'The Northwode boy first,' he hissed softly. The boy stepped forward, and the door was shut. Draco knew there were spells on the door to prevent eavesdroppers, but he could have sworn he heard screaming. After no more than five minutes the door opened again. Northwode was on his knees, clutching his arm and whimpering. The Dark Lord was again turned towards the fireplace. Draco could see his shoulders rise and fall with deep breaths. 

'Malfoy now,' he hissed. 

The elder Northwode stepped forward and helped his son to his feet, but the boy was almost dead on them. He was half-carried out. As he passed Draco their eyes met, and he saw such terror in them his heart jumped into his throat. 

Lucius had to give him a push before he realised he had to enter the room. The door was closed behind him. The Dark Lord breathed in deeply, then turned. Draco had to drop his gaze the second those red eyes hit him. He felt the usual prickling along his neck. His palms were sweating. 

'At last, young Malfoy,' the Dark Lord hissed. 'You are deemed worthy to formally pledge yourself to me.' 

Draco wasn't sure what to say, and was scared to death of saying the wrong thing, so he kept absolutely still. 

'This is a very proud day for your father. To see you follow you in his footsteps.' 

“I follow him only to share his grave,” Draco thought, regretting it immediately and Occluding his mind fiercely. 

'Yes, My Lord,' he managed to say. 

'Hold out your arm.' 

Draco's arm was shaking quite badly, but the Dark Lord did not seem to care. He drew his wand and placed the tip on Draco's forearm, right where the Mark would appear. It occurred to Draco this was the last time he would look at his arm untainted, and so he almost vainly drank in the sight of his unblemished skin. 

'Auctoro probare,' the Dark Lord intoned. A flow of magic entered Draco's arm. He felt it coiling around his every nerve. It wasn't painful, it just was. His breathing sped up. 

'Do you give your magic and power to me, freely and willingly, now and forever?' 

'Y-yes.' 

The mistake did not anger the Dark Lord. He merely corrected him. 'You must say I do.' 

'I do.' 

The Dark Lord then raised his own arm, thin and white. There was a Mark upon him as well. Draco had not known the Dark Lord had his own. It wasn't the same, he realised distantly. There was no skull, only a snake. It sprang to life suddenly, circling round the small space of the Lord's arm, as if ready to strike. 

'Do you accept this binding upon you, and accept its terms?' 

'I do.' 

'Auctoro medeis.' 

The snake struck, springing from the Dark Lord's arm straight across to Draco's. 

Every nerve the Dark Lord's magic had ensnared suddenly caught fire with pain. Draco cried out, falling to his knees, but his forearm was as welded to the tip of the Dark Lord's wand. It burned so harshly he was sure his skin would sizzle. He must have closed his eyes or blacked out, for he could never recall actually seeing the Mark appear. 

When the pain stopped he felt as though his bones were twice as heavy. He swayed, but had the sense to look down at his arm. The Mark glistened back at him, the snake finding its home inside the skull, making his stomach turn at the sight. 

He heard the door open, and then Lucius was lifting him up. He knew he was walking somewhere. Up the stairs. The arm in front of him didn't feel like his arm anymore. 

'You'll feel tired for a few days at least,' Lucius said. 'It will pass.' 

'No, it won't,' Draco whispered. Lucius left him in his room, where he passed out. 

XXX

'There are a few distinct differences,' Draco said stiffly when he had finished reading Severus' account. 'The spell wording, for one. The first incantation is the same, but the second replaced servus with medeis.' 

'Slave with magic,' Hermione whispered, frowning heavily. 

'The pledge is slightly different. I can write it down for you. Then there is the Mark itself. It did not simply appear on my arm.' This caused both of them to furrow their brows. Draco had to close his eyes a moment in case he accidentally looked down at the snake and found it moving. It hadn't moved since the last time the Dark Lord had summoned them, but he would often have terrible dreams about it and the marking. Sometimes he would simply be standing in the kitchen doing the dishes and he would jump ten feet in the air because he thought he saw it move out of the corner of his eye. 

'Can you tell us how?' Harry asked softly. Draco opened his eyes, realising he must have been silent for a while. He shifted in his seat, feeling his palms starting to sweat. There was a reason no one spoke about the marking. No witnesses. 

'It was on the Dark Lord's arm first,' Draco said. 'It jumped to mine. Then the skull appeared, though I didn't see that.' 

'Why didn't you see it?' Potter asked. 

'I was a bit busy howling in pain,' Draco said. 

'It jumped?' Granger sounded horrified at the idea. Potter looked a bit green. Draco's arm lay dead at his side. He would not look. He would not look. But it was right there, bared to the world. He could tell they were trying their hardest not to look. 

Eight years he had spent trying to get out of the grave he'd made for himself. It was all coming undone. 

'Is there any chance of seeing the memory-' 

'No,' Draco gasped. The thought of focusing on the memory to the point of being able to extract it was unbearable. The thought of others seeing it as vividly as he recalled it, was doubly so. 

'No one else has let us either.' 

'I'm hardly surprised,' Draco spat. He couldn't look Potter in the eye, knowing the Hero was probably disappointed. Well, Draco wasn't going to be a Gryffindor about that. 

'We understand,' Potter said. 'It's difficult. If you change your mind, let us know.' 

'So, it jumped from his arm to yours at the second incantation?' Granger asked for clarification. Draco nodded. 

'And then your felt pain?' 

'The magic burned into my nerves,' Draco said. 'I must have blacked out for a second. Then Father was leading me back to my room.' 

'Did you feel tired, like Snape?' 

'Yes, just as he described. I don't think...' Draco closed his eyes again. It was like his arm was itching, like the snake was slithering all over it. He would not look! 'I don't think I've ever felt quite the same again.' 

'How do you mean?' 

'I don't know. It's probably just a mental thing. It's just always-' There. It was always right there. His eyes blinked open for just a fraction of a second, completely involuntary. It was enough for all his old terror to come back full force. He pressed his hand over the Mark, whimpering, biting his lip hard to keep from screaming. It was under his hand, squirming. He pulled at the skin, twisting it, then rubbing and scratching at it. 

'Draco, here, drink.' Granger pushed his shoulder firmly back into the bed. He grabbed the potion and swallowed, closing his eyes and gulping it down. He discarded the bottle and just lay breathing. The calming potion worked quickly, but he knew it wouldn't last long with his level of resistance. He hadn't taken a calming potion in years. It felt like a defeat. 

'Shit,' he said. He felt tears slipping out, but feared it would draw more attention to them if he wiped at them, so he kept completely still. 'Sorry about that. I sometimes- well, not for a long time, actually.' 

'It's OK, Draco, we shouldn't have pushed,' Granger soothed. She had a rather good healer voice, he thought. 'I'm so sorry.' He ignored that. 

'I should probably not have drunk that calming draught,' he confessed, because if he didn't tell her straight away he might not, and that would be very, very stupid of him. 

'You needed it,' Granger said. Draco feared she might pat him or something. 

'No- Yes, but I usually stick to pure doxy ginseng these days,' he said. 'It's effects are less... cumulative.' 

'Oh, OH,' Granger finally got it. 'Right, well, I'll note that in your chart.' 

'We should let your rest now.' 

'Get Scorpius,' Draco said, suddenly burning with a desire to have him close. Potter said he would right away and hurried outside. Granger suddenly stepped closer. 

'That was a very brave thing to do, to tell me of your addiction.' 

'I know what would happen if I didn't,' Draco said. He would never like the word brave, but he couldn't find it in himself to insult her for expressing her opinion. 

Scorpius came running into the room, but stopped short at the sight of Draco. He tried to sit up a bit, tried to not look quite so wretched, but in the end he gave up and just held out his arms. Scorpius hurled himself up on the bed and into Draco's arm. He squeezed him tight. 

'Are you OK?' Scorpius asked, peaking up at him. 'Did they do something to you?' 

'No, just bad memories. Nothing to worry about. I took a calming draught. I'll be fine in a little bit.' 

'We'll leave you, try and get some rest,' Granger said. 

Weasley was at the door, looking like he wanted an explanation. Draco wondered how the two would word what had happened. He tried not to think about the three of them discussing him. He held Scorpius tight and scooted a bit down so they could lie comfortably. 

'I love you, Father,' Scorpius whispered. 

'I love you,' Draco told him, squeezing a bit for emphasis. Scorpius sounded afraid, and Draco hated that. For the first time he thought about what would happen if three weeks really wasn't enough. Who would take care of his little boy?


	4. The Hidden One

‘Healer Weasley?’ 

Hermione looked up from Snape’s scrolls, which were filling up half her office. The young healer looked very worried, so she got up immediately. 

‘What’s happened?’ 

‘It’s Malfoy, Madam,’ he said. ‘He’s saying he needs to leave or...’ They spoke while they walked down the hall to Malfoy’s room. 

‘Or?’ 

‘Or get a… a tellyphone?’ 

‘What?’ She frowned and told the healer she would handle it. Hurrying to Draco's room, she knocked before entering. Malfoy was sitting up, but looked very tired. Scorpius was in the chair, reading silently. He looked up when Hermione entered, a sullen frown on his face. 

‘Malfoy, good morning,’ she greeted. ‘I’m told you need to call someone?’ 

‘Yes, I need to contact my workplace to inform them I won’t be coming in tomorrow. And I need someone to watch Scorpius-’ 

‘I’m not leaving,’ Scorpius whined. 

‘You can not stay in the hospital,’ Draco said, his voice harder than Hermione had ever heard him with Scorpius. ‘You have school tomorrow.’ 

‘I’m not going!’ 

‘It might be weeks before I’m better, you are going,’ Draco informed him. ‘Please, Healer Weasley, I need to either leave for a short time to make arrangements, or I need some sort of phone.’ 

‘We have a waiting room where telephones work, you can call from there.’ 

‘You do?’ Draco blinked. 

‘It’s only just been installed, though I don’t think anyone has actually tested it. It took me three years of nagging so muggle parents wouldn’t have to leave the hospital to make calls.’ 

‘Then I will test it now,’ Draco made to get up. Scorpius shot out of his chair, standing nervously to the side as Draco slowly got out of bed. He was wearing hospital pyjamas, so Hermione summoned a hospital dressing robe to go over, and some slippers. Scorpius followed them out with a pout. 

As she led them to the waiting room, she simply had to ask. 

‘Where is it you work?’ 

Draco bit his lip, whether to keep from speaking or due to pain. He coughed slightly, and then mumbled. ‘What was that?’ Hermione felt bad for pressing. Perhaps Draco had some job he considered lowly. But why would he need it? He still had the Malfoy fortune as far as anyone knew. 

‘I work for the Canterbury Archaeological Trust,’ he said more clearly. 

‘What?’ 

They had arrived at the waiting room and she could feel the magical dampening field as they entered. 

‘You...’ Hermione blinked several times as she watched Draco go to the very old telephone placed on a table in the corner, with a chair next to it. He sat down and started dialing - or rotating, as it were. ‘The Canterbury Archaeological Trust?’ 

‘You heard correctly,’ he said. Scorpius had crossed his arms, his pout now even worse. Draco ignored him. 

‘You work-’ Hermione shook herself, feeling a tad silly. ‘What is it you do for them?’ 

‘Quite a lot, which is why I must make a few calls,’ he said pointedly. 

‘Of course, I’ll leave you to it.’ She wondered how on earth Draco Malfoy ended up in such a high-level muggle occupation. Then again he might be the secretary for all she knew. It did not make sense, though. The Magical World had no tradition of archaeology. They had historians a plenty, though mostly were unfortunately as popular as Professor Binns. Family histories was the only really important field. She had to admit, she didn’t know much about archaeology at all. As she had gotten older, she had often lamented how she simply did not have the time or energy to keep up with the muggle world. It made her feel very odd to have Draco Malfoy know more. 

‘Grang- Healer Weasley?’ Malfoy called just as she was about to leave. ‘I hate to ask, but I need someone to escort Scorpius to the outside to meet Mr. Keller. I’m sure he’ll agree to come up and fetch him sometime this evening.’ 

‘I’m working late, so I can do it,’ Hermione said. 

‘Thank you.’ She nodded and left him. 

It was perhaps ten to fifteen minutes later, when she had almost forgotten about the calls at all, that she happened to be walking down the corridor past the waiting room. Scorpius was sitting outside, leaning up against the wall, reading. She was about to ask what was taking Draco so long when she heard a raised voice. 

'You can't let them do this Richard,' Draco was saying. 'You have to get them to extend the date. I just need a little more time. I'm in the hospital for pete's sake!' 

There was a long silence while Draco listened to the answer. 

'I know that, I'm not saying that,' he said, sounding as if he was barely holding in his anger. 'I've saved your arse before, you owe me! If it wasn't for me there would be a shopping centre on the east side right now.' Hermione and Scorpius shared a look. 

'He wants to stop them building,' he said quietly. 'Cause there's a magical site there, but they don't know that, so he has to trick them a bit.' 

'A magical site?' Hermione frowned. She glanced inside the waiting room. Draco had the phone pressed hard to his ear while he massaged his forehead, head down. 

'If you think I'm not going to call everyone I know, pull in every favour-' 'Yes, this is that important... yes, that's all I am asking! Well, you do that, and I'll do what I can-... Fine. Goodbye.' He hung up forcefully, then looked up. 

'Sorry!' Hermione said. 'I heard you yelling and- I'm sorry.' 

'It's fine,' Draco sighed. 'It's hopeless anyway. Bureaucracy is a two-edged sword. Impossible to get things done in a timely manner, yet unstoppable once the paperwork has been signed.' He gave a mirthless chuckle. 'In that we are exactly alike, muggle and wizards.' 

'What is it you are trying to save?' She stepped tentatively into the room when Draco didn't tell her to sod off. 

'It's an old druid site,' Draco said. 'It probably pre-dates Merlin.' 

'You mean where they did their magic, like Stone Hedge?' 

'Exactly, only nothing of consequence was ever built there, so when we started using wands and imbuing artefacts with magic, this place fell out of memory.' 

'How many places like this are there?' 

'No one knows,' Draco said. 'Most have probably been forgotten, but those that weren't are usually built upon, like Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, even the Ministry. Everywhere magical society gathers, you can bet your galleons there was once a druid site. But this is the first one, that I know of, that's been rediscovered. And these ignorant twats are about to grant building permission to a housing development. It'll be gone forever in less than a year.' 

'But this is incredible,' Hermione said. 'Have you alerted the Ministry? Surely they could do something?'

'Half my job is reporting to the Ministry, feels like,' Draco said. He looked so tired suddenly, like he was greying at the edges before his time. 'I've sent them dozens of requests and rapports, but they don't care. Archaeology isn't something they're familiar with, or history for that matter, except family histories of course. Poor Professor Binns,' Draco smiled sadly, 'I feel sorry I never paid any attention to him.' 

'This is awful,' Hermione said. 'I wish there was something I could do.'

'There isn't, but thanks for caring. You're the first,' he said. He winced, grasping his forearm.

'You need more pain potions,' Hermione said. 'I know you want to call in favours, but as your healer I can't in good conscience let you sit here and make calls all day. You need to come back to bed and rest.' 

'Richard said he'd give it a go, so I'll come peacefully.' He started to rise, only to fall back down into the chair with a wince. Hermione hurried to his side and helped him stand. 'I feel like an old man,' he whispered. Scorpius hovered by the door, worry all over him, but Draco didn't have the strength to even pretend he could make it on his own. He fell asleep almost immediately. 

'I should get back to work.' Hermione looked to Scorpius. 'We are all working round the clock to find a cure.' 

'I know. Father said you're the smartest witch of your generation.' Hermione felt a blush at the overused compliment coming from Malfoy of all people. Hopefully, he had only said it to instil faith in Scorpius. 

'I don't know about that, but I will do my very best.'

' I know - Mr. Keller said he'd be in the city at seven tonight.' 

'Then we will meet him outside.'

'Please, I can't leave,' he looked pleadingly up at Hermione. 

'I'm sorry, but if your father wants you to go, then I think you should respect his wishes, yes?' 

'Yes, Ma'm.' He went and sat by the bed, holding Draco's hand. Hermione had to leave, going straight back to her office and burying herself in Snape's notes. 

XXX 

'I say we have a pattern,' Ron declared. 'If we are going to have any chance of saving Malfoy, we need to go with this.' 

'Agreed,' Harry said, though he did not sound sure. 

'All those old Death Eaters in Azkaban and not one confirmed case among first wave recruits. It has to mean something.' 

'Yes, you're right. We need to focus on what changed between Snape's initiation and Malfoy's. I need to go talk to him again.' Harry rose, grabbing his robe from the hook. The Auror officers were full of people going about their own cases, but they all glanced up as Harry and Ron hurried down the main passageway between the desks. Some of them whispered, and Harry didn't need to hear the words to know what they were gossiping about. Why was The Boy Who Lived trying to save a bunch of Death Eaters? 

Most days Harry could ignore them, but on others their ignorance cut deep. Ron made sure to stare down any who attempted to judge openly with their looks of disgust. 

They heard commotion long before the lift had reached the Atrium. The doors opened to reveal a crowd filling half the Atrium centred around someone or thing near the statues. They were yelling angrily, pushing and jostling each other for a better look. Several Aurors were trying to get in to break it up, but they were reluctant to use their wands. 

'What the bloody hell is going on?' Ron asked. 

Harry drew his wand, giving it a grand wave and shot out a big red fireball. It shot up into the air, catching several people's attention. Once it reached the dome high above, it exploded like a firework. Everyone had his attention now, but several were now trying to run off. Harry put the wand to his throat and when he spoke his voice echoed round the chamber. 

'Stop!' It worked like a freezing charm. Everyone turned their eyes to him. 'You lot, back off, let us through!' The people shuffled away until there was space enough for them to walk to the centre of the commotion. 

What they found was a wizard on his knees, bent almost double in pain. His face was obscured by his long brown hair, but Harry recognised him all the same. He was Gilfoyle Juhlin, Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. What he was not was a known Death Eater. 

The people had cleared a circle of space around him, as if he held some disease they feared getting too close to. 

Harry let Ron keep the people in check while he knelt by Gilfoyle. 

'Mr. Undersecretary,' he said softly. He could see the man's shoulders rise and fall with deep breaths. He wondered if the crowd had hit him with any curses. 'Are you in pain?' 

The man shuddered, took a deep breath, and slowly extended his arm. The Dark Mark was red and angry, and Harry could guess he had been in pain, and hiding it, for quite some time. 

'We'll take you to St. Mungo's,' Harry said. 'Do you have any other injuries?' 

The man raised his head just enough to meet Harry's eye through his hair. He was perhaps just under thirty years of age, with the sharp features many purebloods tended to have, but he had never seemed arrogant. He had always been a hard working type. A younger son, eager to prove himself. It wasn't until now Harry realised just how eager, and misguided. His eyes were haunted, dark and devoid of hope. 

'This is my punishment,' he whispered, voice hoarse. 

'No, this is just one last curse from Voldemort, but we are doing everything we can to help. We will stop this.' 

'I deserve this.' 

'No. No one deserves this. Please, come with me.' 

Harry rose and reached out a hand. Gilfoyle hesitated. The crowd murmured. 

'Death Eater scum!' someone yelled. 

'Why are you helping them? We'll all be better off!' 

'He's a lying bastard!' This comment got cheers of agreement. 'He should be arrested!' 

'Who else is one?' 

'What about the Minister? Did he know?' 

'Let them all rot in Azkaban!' 

'Shut it or we'll start arresting people for disturbing the peace and harassment,' Ron spat. 'Go on you lot, disperse! DIS-PERSE!' People finally started moving away. 

Gilfoyle finally took Harry's hand, and they got him to St. Mungo's without incident, though their arrival created a lot of noise. People gossiping like mad, even a few healers following them, trying to confirm the diagnosis. Harry left Ron and Hermione to deal with Gilfoyle and told the mod to disperse, which they were professional enough to do quicker than the Ministry's employees. 

He needed to see Draco. He knew he wasn't going to ask for the memory again so soon, but he just had to check up on him. 

He knocked and heard Scorpius answer 'Come in.' Draco was sitting up in bed, pale as a ghost, but Harry thought he saw a smile of greeting. 'Potter,' he managed. Scorpius had been reading to him. 'We heard some commotion outside. Everything all right?' 

'Not really,' Harry said. He came to stand at the foot of the bed. Draco's eyes were sunken, his forehead clammy and his hands were shaking. He would be incoherent soon, once the pain grew too strong for the potions to handle. 'Gilfoyle Juhlin, uh, he's the Undersecretary...'

'Yes, I am aware,' Draco cut in. 'I do keep abreast of wizarding politics. What about him?' Draco must have read something in Harry's eyes, for his own widened. 'He's not- Impossible!' 

'I saw the Mark myself. He collapsed from the pain in the middle of the Atrium.' 

'Dear Merlin,' Draco breathed. He stared off into space. 'I never knew.' 

'No one did, which worries me.' 

'If it worries you, no doubt it worries others far more. Does the Minister know?' 

'I haven't spoken to him.' 

Draco gave him a look like the ones he used to give him in school, the ones that spelled out “dunderhead” in no uncertain terms. Draco coughed. 'I suggest you brace yourself.' 

Before Harry could ask what he meant, Scorpius spoke up about the time. Draco asked where Hermione was, but once they explained the issue Harry gladly volunteered to escort Scorpius to Mr. Keller. He also found himself volunteering to bring Scorpius for a visit after school tomorrow. 

Draco's soft 'thank you' did not warm Harry as he had thought it would. It was full of acceptance, and defeat. Harry never did like anything that tasted of defeat. 

As they walked together Scorpius was too silent for a ten year old. Harry was good with children, usually. He had a lot of experience with nieces and nephews, but this situation was beyond him. 

Scorpius looked up at him when they reached the outside. 

'Father told me how you saved everyone,' he said. 

'I had a lot of help.' 

'But you saved everyone, even people like my dad who made mistakes.' 

'Yes, of course,' Harry said, kneeling down to look at the boy properly. 'Your father was put in a very unfair position when he was too young to understand the consequences. He didn't deserve the Mark then, and he doesn't deserve what's happening to him now. I'll do everything I can to save him, I promise.' 

'I know. Dad said you're a goody Gryffindor. You have to win or else the universe doesn't work.' By the way Scorpius was smiling, Harry knew the boy was stronger than he looked, putting on a brave face. 

'Did he, really? Well, Slytherins like your Father always have to be right, or nothing works properly, so I guess I'll just have to listen to him.' 

'Good.' There was a honking noise and Scorpius recognised Mr. Keller's car. 

XXX

Harry found Ron in the lobby once he got back from delivering Scopius to the muggle. 

'Mate, we've got to go. The Minister wants to see you. He firecalled Hermione's office directly.' 

'That doesn't sound good,' Harry said as they made their way to the floo. 'How is Gilfoyle?' 

'Bad,' Ron said. 'Hermione says it's a miracle he kept functioning for as long as he did.' They floo'ed to the Ministry, and were greeted by gossip and suspicious glances. Around the entrance a crowd of reporters were gathered, but Harry was well experienced with them, and pushed through to the lifts quickly, ignoring all questions. They made their way to the floor of the Minister, which was filled with tense, uncertain people, as if they had all forgotten how to do their jobs. 

They knocked on the Minister's door, and were invited in by a snappish 'Enter!' 

Shacklebolt had a storm over his head, and several secretaries flew out of the office when the door opened. 

'Potter, in, Weasley, leave us.' Ron wasted no time in backtracking out of the office, the traitor, Harry thought. 

Shacklebolt stood tall and thunderous. 

'Sit,' he said. Harry did as asked, and Shacklebolt made an effort to calm himself as he did the same. 'This is a disaster.' 

'Undersecretary Juhlin wasn't even rumoured to have been in the war,' Harry recalled. 

'I know, one of the reasons I appointed him,' Shacklebolt snapped. 'The press are having a field day. My opponents are calling for my resignation.' 

'That's bullshit, no one knew, and besides, he hasn't even been charged with anything. Having the Mark is not, in itself, illegal.' 

'I know that,' Shacklebolt said. 'They know that, and they do not care. Potter...' His face became, if possible, even more grim. 'How many Death Eaters do you have in St. Mungo's?' 

'You'd have to ask Healer Weasley,' Harry said, frowning. 'Upwards of twenty, last I checked.' Shacklebolt sighed, shaking his head. 'Gilfoyle is not doing well, if you were wondering.' 

'I worked with the man for five years,' Shacklebolt said. 'His betrayal-' 

'Betrayal is a harsh word,' Harry said. 

'He should have turned himself in at the end of the war!' 

Harry ignored the outburst. 'What, exactly, is it you want me to do, Minister?'

'The Wizangamot wants me to do something about all of this.' 

'Do something? You mean help them? I have three Aurors, and Hermione's got a handful of healers and nurses. If you want to do something, get help.' 

'Harry, tell me honestly, do you think they can be helped?' Shacklebolt asked calmly. Harry felt uneasy, on the verge of feeling sick to his stomach. 

'What do you mean?' 

'If this is part of the Mark, then maybe there isn't anything we can do, except,' Shacklebolt shrugged his shoulders, 'make them comfortable.' 

'You can not be serious.' 

'Azkaban won't be releasing any more prisoners into St. Mungo's care. They can have their pain potions there.' 

'Don't do this, Kingsley,' Harry begged. 'We can solve this.' 

'Harry, you have to understand. People don't want Death Eaters taking resources-' 

'I can't listen to this,' Harry rose. 

'Auror Potter-' 

'Minister, are you taking away my team?' 

'No,' Shacklebolt sighed. 

'Then let me get back to work saving these people.' Harry left with a storm of his own brewing. After the war, everything had seemed possible. Shacklebolt had come in and reshuffled the Ministry completely, flushing out the pro-purebloods and getting everything back on track. The trials had been hard on everyone, and while some mistakes were made, most of them were fair. Most of them Harry could live with, except Malfoy of course. 

He felt the stares following him to the lifts. It was like the last decade hadn't happened. They were relieved, Harry realised. They were looking forward to the Death Eaters dying out, so that the war could die out with them. 

When Harry reached his office, he sat down and just breathed, hoping he wouldn't need to empty his stomach.


	5. The Pastry

_Three days later, Romania_

‘Down that road,’ the old woman confirmed in broken English. ‘On the right,’ she pointed. ‘Red door.’ Harry thanked her, but she waved him off, too busy selling her produce. Harry did not like the look of the street, though it reminded him a little of Diagon Alley with its houses all leaning slightly towards the road, creating an archway of sorts. The windows were boarded up instead of fixed, and the place smelled of rotten food, animal droppings and potion fumes. This was more like Knockturn Alley, Harry decided. 

The house with the red door was easily found. Inside he found an almost completely bare room. There was a stove in the corner, a rickety old table pressed against the wall with two stools under, and a bed against the opposite wall. The room was far from empty, however, as a group of people stood conversing in a tight circle. Old men mostly, all wizards, and one younger man, who looked like he was being interrogated. They all turned when Harry opened the door. 

‘You are the Auror from Britain?’ one of them asked. Harry nodded. ‘I am afraid you have come too late.’ One of the old men gestured for him to follow. Eyes followed him intently as he passed the group into the back room. It also held a bed and a single chair. On it a woman sat, quietly sobbing into her hands. On the bed was who Harry had come for, but he was already dead. His face was frozen in a horrible grimace of pain. 

Harry entered and stood respectfully by the bed, head bowed. The dead man looked old, but how much was the sickness was difficult to tell. If the woman had been his wife or partner, it was likely he was younger than he appeared. She didn’t look older than forty. 

The old man left them, and Harry waited for the woman to compose herself. She sniffed, wiping her tears with a handkerchief. She didn’t look up, but she spoke clearly. 

‘He kept repeating a vow near the end,’ she said. ‘I give my power freely and willingly. I accept this binding and its terms.’ 

‘We believe the Mark kills its bearer exactly ten years after their marking,’ Harry said. 

The woman nodded jerkily. ‘Yes, it’s been ten years. To the day.’ 

‘Did he say anything else?’ 

‘He...’ she bowed her head. ‘He kept asking for the Dark Lord, as if he were still alive. He was mostly incoherent by the end, but I think… I think he said he was ready to swear… again.’ 

Harry frowned at the man. He did not want to think ill of the dead, but it was difficult. Pain made people do things they would never normally do, he reminded himself. 

‘My condolences,’ Harry said. ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’ The woman shook her head, mumbling her thanks. 

Harry left her, feeling like it had been a wasted trip. 

Three days without progress, and Draco only getting worse. Harry made sure to bring Scorpius for a few hours every day while he conferred with Hermione, but it was clear Draco would be on too many pain potions soon. He was strong, stronger than he gave himself credit for, but even he would not be able to stand the constant pain for long. 

Hermione had been so busy treating the existing patients, she had made very little progress on the new incantation. If only Shacklebolt wasn’t so easily swayed by public opinion, they might have gotten the resources they needed. Harry wanted to scream at him, or curse him, preferably. 

When Harry got back across the canal, he did not feel like going back to his office. He went to St. Mungo’s instead, and stopped by Draco’s door. Perhaps he shouldn’t bother them. He hesitated. 

‘Auror Potter?’ 

Scorpius had gone out to get some tea. He had a St. Mungo’s mug in his hand, and looked worried. He probably thought Harry had some bad news, standing outside the door like this. ‘Is something wrong?’ 

‘No, nothing’s wrong,’ Harry tried to smile. ‘I’ve just gotten back from Romania, just thought I’d check in. Did Healer Weasley bring you today?’ Scorpius nodded. 

‘Father will want to see you,’ he said, pushing inside the room. Harry followed, swallowing hard at the sight of Draco. He was propped up by pillows, but it looked like he was half asleep. He was deathly pale, with sunken eyes, and his marked arm was bandaged to keep him from scratching at it. 

‘Potter,’ he said, voice weak. He managed to take the mug from Scorpius, which was something at least. ‘Have a good trip?’ 

‘Not really,’ Harry said, but didn’t elaborate. ‘How are you?’ 

‘Fine, Granger’s potions helps a lot.’ Harry didn’t correct him. He thought maybe Scorpius should be taken back to Mr. Keller’s. 

‘Well, I’ll leave you to your tea.’ 

‘You’ll come back before you leave?’ Scorpius asked. Harry promised, and Draco gave him a smile in thanks. It twisted painfully in his gut. He had to _do_ something. 

He brooded all the way down the hall to Hermione’s office. It was full of Snape’s papers and books from several libraries. She lifted her head from the one she was currently buried in and lifted her eyebrows in a silent question. Harry shook his head, and her face fell, looking back down. Harry seated himself across from her and waited for her to finish. 

She slowly closed the book and sighed. ‘Did they have any information?’ 

Harry relayed what the woman had said, and Hermione frowned. She started flipping through her notes. 

‘There is something,’ she said. ‘But I don’t want to jump ahead.’ 

‘If you have any theory, Hermione-’ 

‘Not a theory yet, just a feeling, but put that aside for now.’ She found whatever note she had been looking for. ‘The change in wording is the only real lead we have,’ she said. ‘The _auctoro_ means in this context “to hire”, or to bind. They both begin with _probare_ , so I think the first incantation signifies that the supplicant proves that he is willing to be hired.’ She shook her head, but Harry nodded. 

‘It makes sense, sort of. The supplicant then swears the oath.’ 

‘Exactly, that’s what I think, at least.’ 

‘It’s good, Hermione.’ 

‘No, because I haven’t found a single other binding spell that’s even remotely similar,’ she sighed. ‘My interpretation is just that, only my interpretation.’ 

‘What about Snape’s notes?’ 

‘He does say something similar, but he was mostly concerned with the effects of the Mark.’ 

‘Isn’t that useful?’ Harry frowned. 

‘Yes and no. Since we have accepted the theory that only the newer Mark is active, his observations of the old ones don’t apply. At least, not without further evidence.’ 

Harry rubbed his temples. He needed some tea himself. Hermione stared at him sympathetically. 

‘What about the second incantation,’ he said. 

‘That’s where it gets strange,’ she said, finding a different set of notes. ‘It changes from _servus_ to _medeis_ , which means it changed from servant - or slave - to magic.’ 

‘So, Voldemort went from hiring someone for their service to their magic?’ Harry asked. ‘The old one sounds worse, if you ask me.’ 

‘I don’t know.’ Hermione looked hesitant to continue, but she pushed ahead. ‘I need to see more memories of both bindings. Without seeing the spell being performed, there is no way to know if there were other elements at play. The incantation is not enough. A binding is a magical ritual.’ 

‘We can get one of the Death Eaters in Azkaban to give you the older version again, in exchange for some perk,’ Harry said. ‘But a newer one...’ 

‘I know every patient,’ Hermione said, and Harry knew how true that was. She was working herself to death taking care of every single one. She probably knew all their life stories. ‘Draco is currently the most powerful, magically and physically. Thanks to the stupid _Prophet_ and the Ministry refusing to placate the public, no new Death Eaters have been admitted.’ 

‘We need his memory, I get it. We aren’t likely to get any stronger ones.’ 

‘No, it’s worse than that,’ Hermione said. ‘I seriously doubt we’ve admitted them all, but no new ones have come forward.They have to be scared.’ The message was clear: thanks to the public and the _Prophet’s_ propaganda, any Death Eater with similar symptoms was going under ground instead of admitting themselves into care. Not to mention the ones stuck in Azkaban, forced to receive their pain potions from unsympathetic guards without any real oversight. 

‘Shit.’ Harry leaned forward and put his head in his hands. ‘Bloody Shacklebolt.’ 

‘Harry-’ 

‘No, this is unacceptable.’ Harry rose and started pacing. The air became electric. Harry had always been powerful, but after his defeat of Voldemort, his temper and power had become legendary. He hadn’t had an “incident” in years, however. 

‘Harry, calm down.’ 

‘People are dying, alone and in horrible agony,’ Harry spat, ‘and the Minister is more concerned with public image and his bloody job!’ 

‘I know, Harry, but we’ll figure this out.’ 

‘How many will die before we do? How many already have?’ He knew exactly, and so did Hermione, but neither said it. 

‘We are all doing the best we can. That is all we can do.’ 

‘And what can the Ministry do?’ Harry asked. Hermione just shook her head and looked away. Harry’s anger deflated. Yelling at his friend wasn’t going to do anything but eat up time. ‘I’ll go talk to Draco.’ 

‘Be gentle.’ Harry nodded and left. He stopped short at the sight of a wizard sitting on one of the chairs in the corridor. He was reading the _Prophet_ and all Harry could see was the front page. 

_”Should the Ministry Investigate? Minister Silent on new Death Eater suspects. List of possible secret-Death Eaters on page six.”_ There was an image of Gilfoyle on the front, with the caption _”Undersecretary Juhlin is still in St. Mungo’s, and has yet to be charged. Minister claims he knew nothing of employee’s allegiances.”_

Harry felt his magic swirl around him again, but he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Losing control would help no one.

He heard some commotion at the far end of the corridor and turned. Several nurses and visitors were hurrying out of one of the rooms, all of them coughing and frantically waving their arms. 

‘Evacuate all non-patients and non-essential personnel,’ one of the nurses cried to a healer who came running to help. ‘We need to check all the rooms. The food, the mail, everything!’ 

The visitors were arguing, trying to be let back into the room to see their loved one, but the nurses were adamant about evacuation. Harry poked his head into Hermione’s office again. ‘You need to come quick,’ he told her. She hurried out and Harry followed. 

‘Healer Weasley, the patient’s room has been contaminated with bursting death caps!’ Harry’s potion skills weren’t exactly up to snuff lately, but he knew that the magical subspecies of death caps that resembled puffballs were not used in any potion. Mostly because of their toxicity and love of exploding into puffs of smoke. While seldom deadly to healthy individuals, if you were already suffering from even a mild cold, you could be at risk. 

‘How is the patient?’ Hermione asked. All of the nurses just stared at her. She huffed in annoyance and conjured a face-mask. ‘Get this whole wing cleared of non-essential people, and alert the other floors. Start searching and screening all mail, food, and personnel.’ 

‘Personnel?’ one of the nurses frowned. ‘You think it’s one of us?’ 

‘I will not risk the lives of our patients to spare your feelings, now move!’ The nurses all sprang into action, and the visitors were quickly ushered away. Harry almost started searching the whole place then and there, but he got himself under control and ran to Draco’s room. 

He burst inside, finding Draco and Scorpius just as they usually were, with Scorpius reading and Draco still nursing his tea. Harry waved his wand around and tried to summon any hidden death caps with a silent spell, but none came. Since that was no guarantee, he started searching manually. He checked the bathroom, behind the curtains, and under the bed. 

‘What are you looking for?’ Draco asked. 

‘Bursting death caps,’ Harry said. He glanced at Scorpius, who didn’t look like he knew what they were. ‘Mushrooms,’ Harry added. ‘Someone sent them to a patient down the corridor.’ Scorpius frowned and looked between them, but Draco merely went still, knowing the implications fully. ‘Have you gotten any mail today?’ Draco shook his head. ‘Nothing out of the ordinary came into the room?’ 

‘No, I haven’t even eaten lunch.’ 

‘Good. We need to evacuate non-essential people just in case.’ He looked at Scorpius, who immediately protested. 

‘I’m not leaving.’ 

‘You are young enough that a big enough dose might kill you,’ Draco said. Harry had to respect how Draco seldom lied to Scorpius. ‘I have to be here, but I’m sure the hospital will be sealing the affected room. I’ll be fine.’ 

‘But if the mushrooms get in here...’ Scorpius said. 

‘They won’t,’ Harry assured him. ‘We’ll keep him safe, don’t worry. I’ll come by after school tomorrow-’ 

‘Tomorrow’s Saturday.’ 

‘Right, I’ll come by in the afternoon and update you, even if the hospital isn’t letting anyone back in yet.’ 

‘You promise?’ 

‘Of course.’ 

Hermione came into the room just then. She looked extremely agitated and her hair was its old bushy self. 

‘We need to get Scorpius out, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘But the initial contamination has been dealt with.’ 

‘I’ll take him,’ Harry said, knowing Hermione would have her hands full. Scorpius hugged Draco tightly, receiving a kiss on the head in goodbye, and Harry escorted the young boy out. He glanced behind them just as they left to see Draco giving him such a grateful look Harry almost wanted to go back and hug him too, and tell him he _would_ make everything fine again. 

Hermione stayed with Draco, and by the look on his face Harry had explained what had happened, and he knew what it all meant. 

‘Aurors will no doubt be coming soon,’ she said. ‘They might want to interrogate you, and everyone else on this floor.’ 

‘You have no idea who brought them in?’ 

‘They were in Undersecretary Juhlin’s room,’ she said. 

‘Is he-?’ 

‘He’s dead.’ 

‘What? Already?’ 

‘He bit into a muffin, or pastry of some sort,’ she shook her head, trying to remember, but she had been so busy trying to get him breathing again. His face had swelled up, red all over except his mouth, which had had a green layer of the mushroom dust on it, as if he had bitten into a green-powered pastry. Hermione had tried clearing his throat, but his other organs were deteriorating quickly as well. No nurses had been there to help her, despite her shouts, and then he had looked at her, managing to focus for just a few seconds, eyes filled with terror, and died. 

‘He got a burst of spores right in his mouth,’ Hermione continued, ’I don’t think I’ve heard of someone getting such a direct dose before. As frail as he was, it was barely five minutes before he let go.’ 

She had made sure to clean herself thoroughly before exiting the room, making sure no spores were airborne. The affliction wasn’t contagious - only direct contamination could cause the sickness - but a threat had been made with that pastry. The family had thought it was part of the hospital meal. None of the patients were safe. The mushrooms weren’t likely to kill healthy people, but with the patients so weak, who knew how little they needed? 

‘Someone just assassinated the Undersecretary,’ Draco said. 

‘I think Shacklebolt relieved him of duty, so technically someone just murdered Mr. Juhlin.’ 

‘Christ,’ Draco said, turning his face away towards the window. Hermione shared the sentiment. ‘They really want us out of the way, don’t they? Can’t say I blame them.’ 

‘Do not say that,’ Hermione said, stepping closer so he would look at her. ‘Gilfoyle Juhlin wasn’t a Death Eater,’ she said. ‘He was a young man just like any other.’ 

‘He hid his Mark from the authorities.’ 

‘Wouldn’t you have, if you could?’ Draco looked away again, because it was true. ‘I don’t believe he ever killed or cursed anyone. For all we know he worked as the Dark Lord’s accountant!’ She took a breath to compose herself. Draco stared at her with a look of realisation. 

‘You really are trying to save us all, aren’t you?’ 

Hermione felt tears pricking at her eyes, so she smiled as kindly as she could, putting on her “stay strong” healer face. ‘Of course we are,’ she said. ‘I have to get back. It’s a madhouse out there.’ She patted Draco’s foot as a gesture of goodbye, and left. 

XXX 

_The Next Day_

Harry was at Azkaban prison right after breakfast. The guards let him in with barely a question, though the Warden balked slightly at who he was there to see. Harry wasn’t too keen on it either. Even Ron, who had interviewed most of the Death Eater prisoners, had only looked in on him to check he wasn’t affected. Harry hated going to Azkaban, chiefly because he had to turn in his wand. 

Lucius Malfoy was a lucky man, considering. After the war, the Dementors had been ousted from Azkaban. Even with them gone, it wasn’t comfortable, and people constantly complained of the poor conditions. The progress to an acceptable standard was slow, but moving forward, thanks mostly to people like Hermione. At least it wasn’t soul-destroying. Malfoy, of course, was comfortable. He had secured a private cell. Harry didn’t know how, but the bastard still had friends - or favours - to cash in on. 

The cell was small, but held a bed and desk, with several parchments and books, and a private toilet. Harry kept his anger under control. Lucius was seated at the desk, reading. He looked up when Harry showed up outside the bars. He wore prisoner robes, but his hair was combed. He had quite a bit of stubble. He was much thinner than before the war, but hardly malnourished. There was the same arrogant look of superiority, which had probably become permanently fixed due to overuse. 

‘Potter,’ he said. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’ 

‘I’m sure you can guess,’ Harry said. ‘You know about the Mark, I assume.’ 

‘I’ve heard it has awakened.’ 

‘Have you heard that your son has become afflicted?’ Harry could not see a single reaction in Lucius, except that he put the book down. 

‘Is he dead?’ 

‘No, but he will be soon if we don’t figure out what’s causing it.’ 

‘Come back when he is, then maybe I can help.’ 

‘What?’ Harry almost gaped at the man, who had pointedly gone back to reading. He knew Lucius was resentful of the Ministry for giving Draco control over the Malfoy estate, and he had personally disowned him after the new sentencing. Harry didn’t know the details, but he had heard Lucius considered his son no better than a squib as long as he abided by the ruling. 

‘You heard me.’

Harry stepped up to the bars. 

‘I need your memory of your marking,’ he said. ‘If you help me save your son, I will do everything in my power to restore his magic, and help you with any comforts you might need.’ 

Lucius narrowed his eyes at him, putting down the book and turning fully towards him. ‘You seem to care an awful lot for one patient. Last I heard, you had a ward full of them.’ 

‘Yes or no, Malfoy,’ Harry barked. ‘I’m sure others here will be more than happy to provide what I need.’ 

‘But you want my version of events,’ Lucius said, smirking. ‘You know most of the other bastards in here are weak and damaged. Their memories are faulty, and the extraction will be difficult. I am, however, perfectly healthy. I have all the comforts I need.’ 

‘I can’t give you your freedom.’ 

‘Not right away, no, but when the time comes for my parole...’ It was five more years until he was eligible. No one thought any of the top ranking Death Eaters would ever get paroled. Was it worth it if there was a chance Lucius might get out on his word? Draco would still control the estate, so how much harm could he do? If he tried anything, Harry would throw him right back here. 

‘I give you my wizard’s oath that I will vouch for you,’ Harry said. Lucius narrowed his eyes, considering. 

‘And my son’s sentence?’ 

‘That I’ll do for him.’ 

‘Interesting. Very well, I will give you the memory, much good will it do you.’ Harry arranged the procedure with the Warden. He had to get the right paperwork for the extraction. The Ministry always loved its paperwork. It was past lunch before he finally got in a room with Malfoy and his wand, extracting the memory without incident. Malfoy made him give his vow again before he went, which left Harry with a sour taste in his mouth. 

When Harry returned to St. Mungo’s with the memory, Hermione was not in her office. He didn’t want to wander around looking for her, so he decided to check in on Draco. 

He knocked and opened it a crack. What he saw made him open the door wide. Hermione was very carefully extracting a memory from Draco’s temple. He was halfway propped up in bed, head against the pillows, eyes squeezed shut and clear tears on his face. He held his forearm to his chest tightly. 

Hermione did not look up, and kept her focus perfectly. She gently tugged the memory free of Draco’s temple and guided it into a small vial. Once she had stopped and pocketed it, she put her hand on Draco’s shoulder. 

‘Are you all right? Do you need a pain potion?’ Draco shook his head, eyes closed. ‘Maybe some doxy ginseng?’ This time he nodded. He opened his eyes, wiping the tears, then noticed Harry. 

‘I’m so sorry,’ Harry said. ‘I was just checking in and-’ 

‘It’s fine,’ Draco managed. ‘Not like you weren’t going to see the memory later anyway.’ 

‘Still...’ 

Hermione rose and said she was going to get the ginseng. Harry excused himself to speak with her, telling her of his visit to Azkaban. Hermione would take both memories to Hogwarts instead of using the pensive at Harry’s office. Harry wanted as little of the investigation as possible to happen in front of prying eyes. 

‘You look a bit wrung out,’ she commented as she prepared a cup of tea with the ginseng in it. ‘Maybe you want one?’ 

‘I’m fine. It’s just Lucius...’ He couldn’t tell her, he realised, so he just shook his head to make it seem like the man had been impossible. Hermione frowned sympathetically. ‘Let me take that to Draco. How is the situation with the death caps? I haven’t even asked at the office.’ 

‘They sent one Auror down here to take statements,’ Hermione said. 

‘What? Who?’ 

‘Fumerton. He was professional enough, but not exactly confident he would solve the case.’ 

‘Bugger them all,’ Harry said. ‘Are you letting visitors in?’ 

‘Fumerton said Shacklebolt regards the assassination as just that, so he doesn’t think anyone else is in danger.’ 

‘I’d say that was naïve thinking, but I know Shacklebolt,’ Harry said. That day’s front page had had a few choice headlines. _”Death Eater and former Undersecretary Juhlin murdered. St. Mungo’s Ward still full of Death Eaters. Some might last weeks more, sources say. Minister Shacklebolt still silent. Rumours of a vote of no confidence?”_

‘I’ve asked the Auror Office to provide personnel to check visitors at the lifts, but I haven’t gotten a response. Until then...’ 

‘Until then they are still dying, only now they are all dying alone.’ Harry took the tea and headed back to Draco’s room. He felt as if he was about to boil over, and surreptitiously took a sip of the tea before he entered the room. 

Draco accepted the tea with thanks. He drank some, and Harry thought he perked up slightly. He asked about visitors, and Harry told him the news. He, again, could not bring himself to speak of Lucius. 

There was a knock on the door and a nurse poked her head in. ‘Uh, Mr. Malfoy?’ She was a timid thing, but Hermione said she was one of the best and least prejudiced, so Harry didn’t interpret her hesitation as anything but skyness. 

‘Yes?’

‘I think there’s someone on the tellyphone thing for you,’ she said. ‘It kept ringing, so I had to go in and pick it up and there was someone speaking, asking for you. I’m not sure how...’ 

‘That’s fine, thank you very much.’ The nurse nodded, gave a small smile, glancing at Harry, then left. ‘Help me to the waiting room,’ Draco said. Harry briefly considered questioning him or getting Hermione to sanction the excursion, but Draco was already trying to scoot off the bed. 

Harry offered Draco his arm, which he gripped tightly. They walked slowly, but even so Draco was out of breath by the time they got to the waiting room. The phone had been put back on. The nurse probably hadn’t realised she had hung up on the person, but luckily it rang again just as Draco sat down by it. He picked it up immediately. 

‘Hello?’ Draco seem to hold his breath as the other person spoke. ‘Yes, I’m here. I’m still in hospital.’ Harry awkwardly wondered if he should leave or wait close by, in case something happened. He decided to go fetch Draco’s tea, in case it was a long call. 

When he came back, Draco looked like he needed it. 

‘You have to stall, Richard. The vote can’t-’ Draco sighed, rubbing his forehead. Harry placed the tea on the table by the phone, and Draco glanced up, giving a small smile of thanks, which Harry returned. It was strange seeing Draco in such a situation. Then again, every situation Draco had been in since their “reunion” had been strange to him. Harry thought about Lucius’ powers of business dealing, and wondered if Draco was as fierce. Hopefully he used his powers for good. Somehow, Harry didn’t doubt it. 

‘Please, you have to-’ Draco was interrupted again. He nodded jerkily. ‘Yes, yes. But I have the weekend, right? … Just watch me.’ He hung up forcefully. 

‘I take it that did not go well?’ 

‘It’s a disaster,’ Draco said, taking a big gulp of tea. He stared into its depths. ‘Seems silly, being so worked up over an archeological site when I’m dying.’ 

‘You’re not.’ 

Draco looked up with a sad smile. ‘No, dying is just a side-effect. Sorry, I know you hate to think of the worst outcome. I’m too much of a realist, I’m afraid.’ 

‘Let’s get you back to bed.’ 

‘Would you do something for me? I know you have better things to do, but please, if you have a spare moment?’ 

‘Anything.’ 

Draco’s eyebrows rose at the declaration, and Harry felt a slight blush creep into his cheeks. 

‘If you happen to walk past the Department of Magical Spaces, Buildings and Areas, or alternatively someone from the Committee of Magical Artefacts, or even better someone from the Cultural Board in the Department of International Magical Cooperation-’ Draco stopped to take a breath. ‘I would be very grateful if you would ask one of them whatever happened to my reports, requests and messages. I usually don’t care whether or not I get a response, as I’ve always managed things on my own, but this time.’ He sighed. 

‘Of course, I will. Um- but what exactly should I ask them about?’ 

‘Ask them why they are letting a completely unique and significant magical site get bulldozed by muggles who are completely unaware of it. Ask them why they don’t care that a magical site, where our ancestors might have performer the first magical rituals on this isle, is being replaced by a block of flats.’ 

Harry had never seen Draco so passionate about something so completely _good_ that he had to smile. Draco’s face had a little of its colour back, and even with the tea he wasn’t exactly calm. He caught Harry staring, and smiling. 

‘What?’ 

‘Sorry, yes, I will, absolutely. It’s insane that they haven’t done anything. I’ll go ask them.’ He rose. ‘First I have to get you back to bed, visit Scorpius, then check back in with Ron. But after that, I promise.’ 

Draco looked a bit wide-eyed, but he took Harry’s arm again, leaning a bit more against him as they made their way back. As they reached Draco’s room, he started shaking and wobbling precariously. Harry put his arm around him, but that wasn’t enough. Draco groaned in pain, and Harry scooped him up into his arms - it was far too light a burden. He hurried to the bed, tucking him in as gently as he could. 

‘Thank you,’ Draco whispered. Harry put his hand on Draco’s forehead. It was clammy and cold. He quickly got a nurse to get more pain potion, and waited by Draco’s bed until he had fallen asleep.


	6. The Department

Scorpius was at the neighbour’s, reading while Mr. Keller, a very nice elderly man with three cats of his own, made dinner. Harry sat with the boy and explained the situation with the visitors and mushroom threat, trying to be as honest as he could, hoping it was what Draco would have wanted. 

He had to check back at the office eventually, and found Ron grumbling. Apparently, the press was becoming more of a job than their actual jobs. Ron had first assigned one of the rookies, but they were completely incompetent when it came to fielding questions and handling the reporters. Ron had had to step in and be a bit more diplomatic. He had crafted an official response, after which things settled down slightly.

The rookies were out on a call - something about a disturbance that might be related. Ron was still going through the trial files, hoping for testimony that might shed light on something. They seemed endless, and a dead end, but it all felt like dead ends these days. 

Harry was about to sit down and take a stab at them again when he was called into Shacklebolt's office. Why he was there on a Saturday was anyone’s guess. Only a few do-gooders came in on Saturdays. Apparently, Harry was one of them now. Ron sent him a sympathetic look, but did not offer to go with him. 

Shacklebolt looked ruffled. He gestured impatiently for Harry to sit. 

'Give me a progress report,' Shacklebolt said. Harry frowned, but told him how things stood, putting emphasis on Hermione's work. Shacklebolt did not look impressed. 'The situation is becoming untenable,' he said. 

'How so, exactly?' Harry asked. Sitting in another meeting with a man who had no interest in the case, when he should be doing something, was untenable. 

'Don't play dumb, Potter, it's beneath you,' Shacklebolt snapped. 'The Wizangamot is considering a vote of no confidence. If I don't do something to appease them and calm this whole situation-' 

'The situation does need calming, Sir,' Harry agreed. 'I suggest giving me the resources to help solve the case, Sir.' 

'Don't,' Shacklebolt warned, _pointing_ at him. Harry's eyebrows rose. He had never seen Shacklebolt this frustrated, especially with him. 'We might have a new investigation on our hands. I'm not sending you resources when there might be secret Death Eaters all over the Ministry. Did you read the _Prophet's_ list of suspects? It's mostly bollocks, but it's fueling paranoia.' 

'They'll get over it,' Harry said. 'The best thing to do is to remind them that we don't investigate people without cause.' 

'So your recommendation is to do nothing? I swear, Potter, if I go down, I won't be going alone.' 

'I'm sorry, what?' Harry's mouth fell open slightly. 

'My leadership has been tainted by the stupidity of Juhlin, but you and I both got where we are because of each other. If I'm ousted, you won't get out clean, especially considering that everyone thinks you're sympathising too much with these people.' 

'Sir, you are starting to sound like-' 

'Don't lecture me on the treatment of prisoners or living in peace or any of that shite,' Shacklebolt waved his hand dismissively. 'People want them back in prison or gone. End of story. Lingering on like this is unsettling everyone.' 

'Not all of the people in St. Mungo's are prisoners, Sir,' Harry reminded him, barely keeping himself under control. Shacklebolt's own loss of control was helping Harry keep his. 'They are just sick people, who are in a lot of pain.' 

'If you keep on this, you will only makes things difficult for yourself in the future. I'm sure you have plans? I always thought one day you would succeed me, but if I'm ousted I'm not exactly in a position to help you with that.' 

'Sir,' Harry raised his voice, just below a shout. The hairs on his arms stood up, and Shacklebolt seemed to sense something, because he sat back abruptly. 'Let me be clear. I could not give a toss about your job security, or mine for that matter. We fought a war together, don't you remember that?' Shacklebolt opened his mouth to speak, but Harry cut him off by rising from his chair. 'I do. I remember the trials. You thought Draco Malfoy's sentence was too harsh, that it would create resentment within the pureblood families. You wanted only the worst to go to Azkaban. You advocated for community service and to let the seventh years retake their year, no matter their house. 

'Has all that meant nothing?' Harry asked. 'These people are being killed, by Voldemort,' he spat. 'We used to try and stop that from happening.' 

'Harry,' Shacklebolt said, voice low and shamed, but he was shaking his head.

'I'm still fighting,' Harry said. 'I won't stop until his legacy is gone. You can tell the press whatever you want. I'll tell them the truth. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a job to do.' Harry turned and stormed out. He didn't notice, but the second he left several items dropped out of the air. Papers, quills, books, and Shacklebolt's tea had all silently risen into the air while Harry had been speaking. They crashed down, startling the Minister. The air crackled with magic. 

Harry was so angry, a small whirlwind followed him, causing many office workers to have to lunge after stray scrolls. He got in the lift, and no one dared go in after him. As it sunk to the Auror offices, Harry breathed deeply. The longer this whole thing went on, the more Harry could see the ugly side of everyone he thought would be on his side. He almost felt like calling friends, like Luna or Neville, just to ask them what they thought, so he could assure himself of their integrity. He thought about going to see Arthur and Molly. He hadn't been over there in ages. They would be reasonable, surely? But he had thought Shacklebolt unbreakable also. 

The lift doors opened, and several people who had been waiting for it hesitated at the sight of him. Harry pressed another button and muttered 'sorry, wrong floor.' None of them joined him. Harry went all the way down to the sub-basement levels, until he found the Department of Magical Spaces, Buildings and Areas. 

The doors creaked opened to reveal a long corridor, clad in dark wood panelling. Office doors were spaced out on both sides all along it, about ten feet apart. Harry read the names and titles as he went. Most of them were accountants, he noticed. Many of the doors held no names at all. The corridor was completely silent, and dimly lit. None of the names looked like they could be of help. 

The unfamiliar surroundings made him realise how big the Ministry truly was. There were whole departments he had never even set foot in. To be completely honest, he couldn't be entirely sure he had even heard of the Department of Magical Spaces, Buildings and Areas before Draco mentioned it. What had the other options been? Something about a Cultural Board. Merlin, he was horrible at bureaucracy. 

He came to the end, where the corridor split off in opposite directions, both of them identical. The same endless office doors. Now what? Harry chose a direction at random. 

He almost fell into a sort of trance, staring at the exact same door over and over, with only a few more varied titles like 'case worker', 'surveyor' and 'inspector'. Suddenly, however, he passed a door that said 'Areas - Notary,' with no name. That sounded like something that might be useful. Even if no one was there, he could maybe summon Draco’s letters. Harry opened the door, expecting to find a relatively small room with a few file cabinets, considering the small space between the doors. 

Of course, he still sometimes forgot he was a wizard. 

The room was perhaps five times larger than the door had suggested. There were three rows of desks, five deep, all identical, but only three of them occupied by wizards. 

They were all fairly old, balding or completely bald, with the same brown robes. They were reading scrolls, stamping them occasionally. At the end they signed them, before sending them shooting off into one of the file cabinets, which would open magically, swallowing the scrolls as if they were fish being tossed to seals. 

The three stopped what they were doing at Harry's appearance, staring at him in confusion, as if they had never seen a person from the outside world. 

'Hello,' Harry said, 'I'm hoping someone might help a friend of mine. He's been wondering why no one has answered his messages?' 

'Is he registering a new magical area? Or requesting permission for one?' the wizard at the front asked. He was a small man, bald and with thick glasses. 

'Um, no, he's sort of registering an old one, I think.' Harry should have gotten more details before he came all the way down here, but he had been in desperate need of a distraction to calm himself down before he did something stupid. 

'Surveying and inspecting of old areas is down the corridor-' the wizard abruptly stopped, staring even more wide-eyed. Harry knew that look. 'Are you- You're Harry Potter!' 

'Yes, yes, I am.’ He had over the years developed a sense of when just rolling with it was to his advantage. He never abused his power of course, but sometimes- well, it wasn't as if there was a line. 

The wizard popped out of his chair, while the other two leaned close to whisper to each other. ‘Auror Potter, it is an honour to have you visit our little Department. I am Rafferty Westheimer, at your service.' He shook Harry's hand enthusiastically, practically beaming. Harry put on his press-face and smiled back. 

'A pleasure to meet you. I'm hoping someone here can help me. My friend has sent a lot of reports and messages to various Ministry Departments, including this one. It's about a magical site.' 

'That is our speciality,' the man smiled, 'but you said it was old? Does it have a case file number?' 

'No, it's not in the system. I think it's an archaeological site. A magical heritage site.' The man's smile faded, replaced by a frown. He glanced behind him at his comrades, who both nodded imperceptibly. The wizard turned back to Harry. 

'Who has been sending these missives?' he asked. 

'Draco Malfoy,' Harry said, almost sighing in defeat. 

'Ah, I do believe I know to which case you are referring,' the man said. 'Let's go to my office.' He led the way out, and stepped right across the hallway to the door opposite. He opened it and gestured for Harry to enter. Inside was a very nice and spacious office. It held a big desk, a very comfortable leather chair, and a seating area comprising of two sofas and a coffee table. Along the walls were shelves and filing cabinets. Harry had to smile - every Department always took the advantages they had access to. 

'Please, have a seat,' Mr. Westheimer gestured to one of the Chesterfield sofas. Harry sat, wondering if the man was worried Harry might tell someone about this abuse of power. Then again, maybe it was just the done thing. 

Mr. Westheimer hurried to the nearest filing cabinet and opened the top drawer, pulling out several scrolls, and a stack of letters. He set them all on the table in front of Harry and seated himself. 'These are Mr. Malfoy's reports relating to the site he is currently working on, I believe. A druid magical site, I think he posited.' 

'That sounds like something worth saving,' Harry said, noticing Draco’s neat handwriting on some of the letters. 

'Indeed, I would love to visit the place myself and do some surveying. Unfortunately, this is not, strictly speaking, under our jurisdiction, so to speak.' Harry tried not to get turned around by the way the man spoke. A lot of wizards who spent their lives down in the basements developed that kind of speech, as if making sure they could get out of every clause they offered. 

'But it's a magical area, right?' 

'Yes, and no. Right now it's just a field,' he explained. 'Most of Malfoy's work has dealt with unused places and artefacts. We have only surveyed two sites and registered a single one thanks to Malfoy's reports over the years. Most of them we simply do not have the resources to look into. As you saw, we are woefully understaffed.' 

'But this is an important site.' 

'Yes, I agree, as a private citizen of course. But as an employee of this Department, I can not speak to that. Mr. Malfoy sends copies to the Cultural Board and the Committee of Magical Artefacts, I believe. In this case, I think you should speak to the former. If anyone would be interested in saving it, it would be them. Of course, that is my private recommendation. Officially, Mr. Malfoy’s report has been sent on to all possible parties, and I can not speak to their handling of the case.' 

'You don't sound hopeful,' Harry commented. 

'Malfoy's work is excellent,' Mr. Westheimer said. 'His reports are incredibly thorough and follow every guideline to the letter. I'd love him to work here, to be honest!' The man gave a soft chuckle. 'But I am not in charge of hiring, of course!’ 

‘As to his work,’ he continued, ‘The Ministry, in its current organization, has no place to process requests of this nature. None of the current Departments have this within their purview, you see. His reports often end up being circulated several times before someone puts a "case closed" stamp on them to get them out of the air. Though I myself have never witnessed such an act, nor would I close a case without going through the proper procedure.' 

'That's...' Harry shouldn't be surprised, but damn it, this was not the distraction he needed. 'There must be someone who could make a decision on this. Survey it, at least, make an official inquiry request. Something!' 

'An intervention of this nature would require a lot of manpower. The site would have to be made unplottable, muggle documents would have to be destroyed - some locals might even have to be obliviated or at the least confunded. You would need an order from the Wizangamot or the Minister of Magic himself. _Or_ , to buy time, you could get a formal request to halt proceedings until further investigation from the Department of International Magical Cooperation.' 

'Merlin,' Harry sighed, his head dropping down into his hands. 'I'm not likely to get any of that.' 

'But surely you know the Minister himself?' 

'He's not a fan at the moment,' Harry said. Mr. Westheimer looked utterly confused. Harry decided not to be the one to explain the situation outside. He thanked the man for his trouble. 

'Not a problem. I'm sorry I can't be of more help.' They rose together and the man opened the door for him again. Harry stepped out of the office, only to stop short at the sight of the lifts just one door away to the right. He glanced at Mr. Westheimer in surprised. The man grinned. 

'Magical space is a wonderfully practical thing, don't you think?' Harry smiled back, agreed, and said goodbye. 

XXX

 _Sunday morning_

A sunday was no day for progress, especially if the Ministry was involved. But apparently someone had been working late last night, because Harry had finally gotten word from the Ministry archive on his request to access _all_ documents pertaining to the war. Hermione had asked him to do it because she suspected some documents had been taken from Malfoy Manor during the clean-up. 

The request was denied. Harry almost firecalled Shacklebolt, but it was probably his doing, and he wasn’t likely to change his mind if Harry’s head appeared in his fireplace on his day off. 

He spent the day going through trial transcripts and patient interviews, hoping for something would jump out at him. 

At lunch he went to visit Draco to tell him the bad news about the archaeological site. The patient was very weak, but seemed to become even smaller as Harry spoke. 

Harry sat by the bed, waiting for a response. Draco just lay there, staring at the opposite wall. Why wasn’t there a wireless in here at least? Harry made a mental note to ask Hermione. He knew she would be in today as well. 

His gaze fell to Draco’s forearm. It was bandaged, but the dressing looked a bit old, and there was just a hint of red coming from where the Mark would be. Had he been bleeding from it? That was not a symptom, but then Harry remembered Draco’s reaction when he had become agitated. He had scratched and pulled at the Mark. Perhaps he was doing it more frequently as the pain worsened. The thought of Draco scratching at his skin until he bled was almost enough to make Harry want to scream. 

‘I hate to ask, but this isn’t just for me, you understand,’ Draco said softly, calling Harry back from his dark thoughts. ‘Is there any chance you could talk to the Minister?’ 

‘I would, Draco, in a heartbeat, if I thought it would help,’ Harry said, bowing his head. ‘But Shacklebolt is not very pleased with me right now. He’s worried about his job. He practically threatened to have me sacked if the vote of no confidence goes through.’ 

‘What vote? What’s going on?’ 

‘You…. you haven’t been reading the _Prophet_ , then?’ Shit, this was just what Draco needed. Harry should have guessed Hermione would keep the news from him. But he couldn’t lie. He told him the whole sorry tale, paying special attention to how it was all just mindless paranoia and that it would all blow over once they found a cure. 

‘You shouldn’t be so shocked,’ Draco said. ‘You of all people should know that public opinion is not as easily won as a war.’ It was the first time Draco had even hinted that Harry might have had to deal with the public being unreasonable, and Harry made special note of how matter-of-factly he had said it. 

‘I know, but I thought at least, after the trials...’ 

‘The war was not about politics, in the end,’ Draco said. The tone of his voice made Harry go still, like he was young again listening to someone tell a special story. ‘You know it more than anyone. Or maybe you’re the only one who really knows.’ At Harry’s frown, he continued. ‘It was about evil. Pure evil. Not even all those who fought truly understand that. Those people crying for our heads, the one who sent the mushrooms, they don’t know shit. All they know is that Death Eaters are bad, and their fates have rightly caught up with them.’ 

Harry nodded. He supposed all that was true. People really didn’t know what Voldemort had been about, in the end. Most people didn’t even realise they had lived under his rule. They just thought the overthrow of the Ministry had been a regular old coup d’état. Scary, yes, but not evil incarnate. Their day-to-day lives had been inconvenienced, yes, but they had not had to face an opponent on the battlefield. Muggleborns had had it much worse, of course, but very few had died outside of combat. 

‘I’m sorry I asked you anyway,’ Draco said, and it took a while to remember where the conversation had started. ‘I know you probably don’t use your influence like that.’ 

‘I think you overestimate what influence I do have,’ Harry said, unable to keep the smile off his face, despite the topic. For Draco to say such a thing, surely that meant he didn’t see Harry as the attention-seeking git of their school days? Harry certainly didn’t see Draco like he used to. Draco looked at him oddly, but that just made Harry smile wider. 

‘What?’ 

‘Nothing, just your life- you, really,’ Harry couldn’t put it into words, but he had to try. ‘You’ve adapted better than anyone else, and you probably had the worst of it compared to your peers. I’m… I feel-... I’m trying really hard to think of different word than proud.’ 

Instead of being insulted, like Harry had anticipated, Draco almost blushed. He couldn’t manage it, due to his paleness, but Harry could tell he was more touched than anything. 

‘Slytherins are nothing if not adaptable,’ Draco said, staring at his sheets. ‘Some of us just forgot that.’ 

‘That must be it,’ Harry said, letting Draco off the hook. What had he been thinking, saying something like that? But Draco continued to astonish him, and he hadn’t felt this light since this whole mess started. ‘I won’t give up on the site just yet,’ he told him, rising. ‘But there isn’t much more to be done today. I’m going to visit Scorpius next. Is there anything you’d like me to tell him?’ 

Draco looked at a loss for words for a moment. ‘Just,’ he said, considering. ‘Just tell him his father loves him.’ Harry nodded, smiling. He turned to leave. ‘Harry.’ The name made Harry more than just pause, he had to turn and raise his eyebrows at Draco, who now did blush, very faintly. ‘If they let visitors back in, please don’t tell Scorpius before you’ve spoken to me.’ 

‘Why?’ 

‘I don’t like lying to him, ever, but the thought of him watching me die...’

‘You are _not_ dying.’ 

‘I’ve been here over a week, and I’m starting to reach the limit of how much pain potion I can take. I’ll start to become incoherent soon. I don’t want him to see me like that.’ The moment of happiness was gone, and Harry wanted to scream again. He managed to nod, leaving quickly before he said anything to upset Draco more. 

As he walked towards the lift, he spotted the shy nurse who had told Draco about the telephone call. He immediately sensed something was off. She was walking very straight, eyes ahead, not even glancing in Harry’s direction. There wasn’t much happening on the ward, being Sunday and with no new patients for several days, so the pair of them were the only two out in the corridor at that moment. 

As Harry drew level with her, he gave her a cheerful smile and said, ‘Hello, working on a Sunday too?’ 

She jumped slightly, then gave a lopsided smile. ‘Yes,’ she said, her voice raspy. She coughed. ‘Yes,’ she said again, more high-pitched. ‘Someone has to!’ She hurried down the corridor. 

Harry took out his wand. There was no doubt in his mind, she was polyjuiced. He just hoped the real nurse wasn’t harmed. He followed her, trying not to make too much noise, but it wasn’t long until she realised someone was behind her. She drew level with Draco’s door, pausing. Harry almost raised his wand then and there, but he couldn’t hex someone so completely unprovoked. She glanced behind her, eyes wide, then spotted his wand. 

‘I think we need to have a chat,’ Harry told her, keeping calm. ‘Why don’t you lift your arms and let me summon your wand.’ She stared at him for two seconds, before turning and running. Harry swore and shot a stunner, but she apparently had experience with running from the law, because she constantly zig-zagged. Harry’s spell just missed her. Harry took off running. She was almost at the exit to the stairs. 

‘Stupefy!’ Harry shot a powerful stunner. It practically roared down the hallway. He hoped no one came out of their room just then. The nurse turned at the door, and dropped like dead weight to the floor. Her wand was out, a small shield just enough protection against the edges of Harry’s stunner as it slammed into the door. 

‘Stop!’ Harry tried, but she was scrambling to her feet out the door. Harry reached it a second later and paused. He kicked the door open, spinning away in case she fired. Nothing came, so he stuck his head into the stairwell and heard her running down. ‘Shit,’ he said, taking off after her. 

He glanced over the railing so he could see all the way down. He spotted her hand and shot another silent stunner, but it missed. It was hard to aim while running in a downward spiral. He was quicker by far, being in his own feet. Suddenly she spun, shooting a stunner, but Harry’s shield deflected it. It wasn’t very strong, he noted. 

As she turned to run more, she tripped over her own feet, tumbling down. Harry shot a cushioning spell to keep her from breaking her neck. He ran after, and was over her by the time she settled. He grabbed her wand straight out of her hand, aiming both. 

‘Are you done?’ he asked, annoyed. ‘Who are you?’ 

‘Screw you, Potter!’ The words sounded bizarre coming from her mouth. He almost laughed. 

‘Do I know you?’ he asked. 

‘Fuck off!’ 

‘You are under arrest for suspected use of polyjuice.’ He bent slightly and sniffed at her. Definitely not the sweet nurse. Her hair was also slowly shortening and darkening from her usual blonde. ‘Illegally obtained, I’m guessing, and of poor quality.’ 

‘I’m not polyjuiced,’ she had the nerve to declare. Harry did laugh then. 

‘Right, well, then I’m arresting you for hindering Auror work by making me run all the way down here. We will be having our chat, down at the Office.’ Her hair was now a buzz-cut, which looked hideous on her. Soon her face started bulging out, red and wrinkly. She was starting to pop out of her clothes, Harry realised with horror, and he quickly spelled the nursing robes bigger. 

Eventually, she turned into Gregory Goyle. 

‘What in Merlin’s name are you doing here?’ Harry asked. He hadn’t seen Greg since the trials. He had gotten off with a slap on the wrist. Harry had been almost glad. The boy had lost his best friend, his parents, and the ability to follow Draco everywhere. Last Harry had heard, he was working in a butcher’s shop. It had made sense, at the time. 

‘I just came to see Draco!’ Goyle cried indignantly. 

‘Really? You don’t have any mushrooms on you?’ 

‘What?’ Harry knew Goyle couldn’t have any interest in killing Gilfoyle, not to mention the skill and intelligence it would take to come up with the mushroom pastry. ‘Nevermind. Why couldn’t you just come visit like a normal person?’ 

‘They wouldn’t let in visitors,’ he said, as if that was all the reason he needed. Harry sighed. 

‘Get up,’ he said. Goyle got to his feet, wobbling slightly at the no doubt uncomfortable change. Harry held out his wand. Goyle eyed it like Harry would snatch it back if he tried to take it. ‘Just take it,’ Harry said. ‘I’m not going to arrest you. Just, don’t buy illegal potions, okay? And where is the nurse whose hair you stole?’ 

‘She’s got the day off. Went to her grandmother’s.’ 

Harry almost laughed again, but this was just sad. 

‘Is it true?’ Goyle asked, finally snatching the wand back. He tucked it away. ‘Is he dying?’ 

‘Yes, but we’re going to save him.’ 

‘My Mark hasn’t woken up. Will it, do you think?’ 

‘How long after Draco did you take the Mark?’ 

Goyle frowned, forehead furrowing as he tried to remember. ‘Uh, I don’t know, I can’t remember. A few weeks maybe?’ 

‘Then it’s probably going to start hurting very soon,’ Harry told him. Goyle paled. ‘I’m sorry. When it starts hurting, you need to come to back here immediately. You’ll need treatment to handle the pain.’ 

‘You would help me?’ 

‘We aren’t enemies, Goyle, not anymore. But you need to go home now. Draco’s in a bad way. He needs to sleep. But, if you like, I can come get you tomorrow and let you visit with me.’ 

‘Really?’ It was bad of Harry to cheat the rules like this, but maybe Draco wanted to see him. He wasn’t sure how they had left things. 

‘Yes, just, promise you won’t break the law again.’ 

‘I promise,’ Goyle said, and Harry - Merlin help him - believed him. They started walking towards the ground floor. ‘I wish I had never taken that vow,’ he grumbled. Harry sympathised, but didn’t know what to say. ‘I was with Nott when he died.’ That stopped Harry dead. He looked at Goyle, who looked ready to cry. Harry almost awkwardly patted his shoulder, but then he thankfully continued speaking. ‘He said it hurt like he was taking the vow, only constant.’ 

Harry hadn’t heard anyone describe it quite like that. It clicked with something else in his mind, but it was vague, like a dream he was trying to remember. 

‘Come, we have to go, I have to go.’ Harry hurried Goyle out of St. Mungo’s, forcing him to give up the rest of his illegal polyjuice before promising to come by after the shop closed tomorrow.


	7. The Oath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. A heatwave melted my brain, but luckily I escaped further north. In this chapter things get solved, only to become more complicated again!

After he had escorted Goyle off the premises, he felt a need to stop by to see Scorpius. The boy was anxious for news, and Harry tried to be positive. 

He sat with the boy while Mr. Keller pottered about in the kitchen. Scorpius was doing his homework, history, at the dining room table. The place smelled of old people, and was decorated to match. Harry thought of how out-of-place Scorpius must feel, despite the old man’s friendly demeanour. 

‘When will I get to see him again?’ Scorpius asked. 

‘Soon, I hope,’ Harry said, knowing Draco wouldn’t want him to promise anything. He sighed, glancing towards the kitchen, wondering if Mr. Keller could hear them. ‘The Ministry is being cautious, after the mushroom incident.’ A half-lie at best, and it made Harry feel bad. 

‘They all want them to just go away, don’t they?’ 

‘People are afraid of what they remind them of,’ Harry said. ‘They were dark times.’ 

‘I wish they’d get over it,’ Scorpius mumbled, for once sounding like the petulant ten-year-old he was suppose to. ‘Dad needs to get back to work, or everything will be ruined.’ 

‘You mean the building project,’ Harry said, feeling even worse now. ‘I tried to speak with someone about that, at the Ministry, but I didn’t get very far. I’m sorry.’ 

‘Dad says this is the most precious thing that’s going to be lost since he started working for the Trust,’ Scorpius continued. ‘He told me people would gather to those places all the time. For weddings, funerals, even births. Now muggles will live on top, without ever knowing.’ 

Harry didn’t know how to comfort a child worried about the fate of a historical site, so he just nodded and grumbled appropriately. Eventually, he had to make his excuses. He thanked Mr. Keller on Draco’s behalf. 

He headed back to the Ministry. As he was walking through the Atrium, Jenkins came running out from the lifts. 

‘Headmistress McGonagall firecalled the office,’ he said, out of breath. ‘They need you at Hogwarts.’ Harry turned on his heel and stormed off. 

Hermione and Ron had been in the pensive all day. Harry arrived while they were still inside, and McGonagall offered him tea, saying that Hermione had something to tell him and that she had sounded very worried. Harry barely managed to sit still. Finally, the pair emerged. 

Hermione was scribbling furiously on a bit of parchment, while Ron looked a bit green. 

‘Did you find anything?’ Harry asked, jumping up from his chair. McGonagall rose at a more leisurely pace. Hermione looked up, and for a moment she had a deer caught in the headlights look about her. She glanced down at her notes, then she and Ron exchanged glances. ‘What?’ Harry prompted. 

‘You tell him, I need tea,’ Ron said. He took Harry’s seat, and his half-drunken tea. 

‘Hermione?’ 

‘Please, Harry, this is going to sound horrible, and I might be wrong. I haven’t confirmed anything. Until we run the tests-’ 

‘Hermione,’ Harry said sharply. ‘Don’t start that, just tell me.’ 

‘It’s the marking.’ Her face fell, as if she accepted some sort of defeat. She gestured to the pensieve. ‘Draco wasn’t aware of it at the time, none of them were, due to the pain. I should have realised the pain was unnecessary, but I just thought Voldemort was being his usual sadistic self… He stole some of their magic, Harry.’ 

‘Stole-?’ Harry was speechless, and McGonagall covered her open mouth in shock. 

‘Are you very sure Healer Weasley?’ she asked. 

‘I-... I am, yes,’ Hermione said very reluctantly. ‘In Snape’s notes, he said he felt tired for days after. The same with Draco. Their bodies acclimatized to the new magic levels. Voldemort didn’t take enough to impact their spellwork in a meaningful way, but once you start adding up all the Death Eaters...’

‘Sweet Merlin,’ McGonagall whispered. ‘We never thought that was now he did it.’

‘Wait- you said Snape’s notes? So, that’s _not_ what changed with the new marking?’ Harry asked. 

‘No, I’m positive that aspect is the same,’ Hermione said. Harry swore. McGonagall rebuked him, but she was too shocked to care. She went back to her tea, drinking with shaking hands. Harry went to the pensive, staring down into its depth as if the answer would leap out at him. ‘Harry-’ 

‘We’re running out of time.’ 

‘I know,’ Hermione said. ‘But this is a very important discovery.’

‘And a horrifying one,’ Ron grumbled. 

‘But it’s not the answer.’

‘Mate, how can you be so calm about this?’ Ron asked. ‘Voldemort stole power, without them knowing.’ 

‘He’s dead, so I don’t really care about making sure his list of sins is up to date.’ 

‘Tell him about the connection,’ Ron told Hermione. Harry looked up, frowning, catching the look of censure Ron got. 

‘What?’ he asked. ‘And spare me the “this is just a theory” bit.’ 

‘Fine,’ Hermione said, turning to Harry with a motherly look, which usually didn’t bode well. ‘When Voldemort was defeated, you felt a surge of power, right?’ 

‘Yes… No, wait, you can’t be serious.’ Harry understood what she was getting at, and he shook his head, backing away. They had always explained his magical ability with the fact that he hadn’t reached his full potential until he was seventeen. As the truth sank in, he felt sick. ‘How would that even happen!’ 

‘The marking ritual makes a wizard a servant. All the Death Eaters were in Voldemort’s service, basically. He...’ 

‘Owned them,’ Ron said from his tea. 

‘Right, sort of,’ Hermione said. ‘I mean, this whole thing is one of a kind, literally, so we have to use different terms, but because of your connection, whenever a new Death Eater was sworn in, the power was divided between you.’ 

‘Oh,’ McGonagall said softly. She was deathly pale, and she looked up to Dumbledore’s portrait, which for once was completely serious. ‘Albus,’ she whispered. This had never occurred to either of them. They had never realised the damage the Mark had done. 

Harry turned away from the scene, leaning against one of the cabinets. He tried to just breathe, but it was difficult. Voldemort had been dead a long time, and Harry usually didn’t spare him many thoughts, but this was almost as if he had never died. 

Harry had carried his legacy in him, all this time. 

‘They swore their service- their magic, to me. All the new Death Eaters,’ he half-asked. 

‘Every new Death Eater after your connection to Voldemort had been established,’ Hermione confirmed. ‘It explains why your powers kept rising, but then you had that surge after Voldemort’s death, because now you are the sole- um, owner- and now... well, you’re-’ 

‘I’m the Lord now.’ 

‘No, Harry, you are not him,’ Hermione interrupted his line of thought. ‘Whatever happens, you aren’t going to use this power for evil. You know that, we all do.’ 

‘None of them could have known,’ Harry said instead. He gave a mirthless laugh suddenly. ‘Merlin, could you imagine? If they knew they were swearing to me as well?’ 

Oaths, he thought, and the image of the dead wizard in Romania came to him. He had been ready to swear _again_. He felt his heart stop a beat. _No_ , he prayed, let it not be the answer, but like Hermione had said, it explained so much. 

‘Voldemort perfected it,’ he said, mostly to himself. ‘The first time round, he just used the ritual as a cover to take a little, build up his power brick by brick, but then he found a way to really use it.’ 

‘What do you mean?’ 

‘I- I have to go.’ Harry didn’t listen to them calling for him. He took the steps down two at a time, and every shortcut he knew to the gates of Hogwarts. The second his foot was over the threshold, he apparated back to St. Mungo’s lobby. 

The ward was quiet, just like he had left it, so his beating heart sounded like it would wake everyone. 

Draco was asleep, and Harry had to shake him awake due to the effect of the pain potions. 

‘What is it?’ Draco grumbled, half asleep. He blinked up at Harry. ‘What’s happened?’ He was awake in an instant. ‘Is Scorpius all right?’ 

‘He’s fine,’ Harry said. He had no idea how to say it, so he just blurted it out. ‘I need you to swear the oath again.’

‘What? I already gave you the memory.’ 

‘I think I know what can stop this,’ Harry gestured to Draco’s arm. ‘You just have to swear again… To me.’ 

‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Draco pushed himself up. ‘Have you lost your mind?’ 

‘Please, just do it,’ Harry said. ‘Call it a hunch.’ 

‘No,’ Draco said. ‘I will never say those words again.’ 

‘Draco, please just-’ 

‘No, get out, you’re insane.’ 

‘Draco-’ 

‘Get out!’ Harry almost continued to argue, but Draco grabbed one of the empty potion bottles on the side table and threw it at him. He ducked. ‘Get out!’ Harry ran. 

He looked up and down the corridor and picked a direction at random, walking down, glancing inside every room he passed. His heart was beating a hundred miles a minute, but he had to try. He had to know. His focus reminded him of a battle. He found the room of a Death Eater he knew was near the end. Hermione feared he only had days left. He was maybe five years older than them. Due to the pain, he was awake, incoherent and mumbling. There was a half-empty pain potion by his bed. Harry managed to get him to drink some. He had no idea if he was giving him too much, but the man settled down at least, and focused blearily on Harry. 

‘Do you know who I am?’ 

The man shook his head, moaning and trying to scratch his arm, but both his wrists were tied to the bed. Harry grimaced at the sight of the bandages. When was the last time anyone had changed them? He almost went to get a nurse to do it, wondering what Hermione would think if she knew her patients weren’t being taken cared of. He didn’t blame her, of course. He put all the blame where he knew it belonged: the Ministry and Shacklebolt. 

‘I am...’ Harry hesitated. The man looked up at him again, waiting as though for salvation, or anything to distract him from the pain. ‘I am the Dark Lord.’ The information seeped in, and when the man finally recognised the words, his eyes widened and he gasped, struggling in his bonds. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, tears falling. Harry felt sick to his stomach, but pushed forward. ‘I can make the pain go away. All you have to do is swear.’ 

‘I swear,’ the man gasped at once. ‘Please, My Lord, I swear!’ 

‘Auctoro probare,’ Harry said, placing the tip of his wand on the man’s arm. ‘Do you-’ 

‘I swear, I swear,’ the man babbled. It was doubtful he was still listening. His head was flopping left and right, his eyes shut. ‘I swear.’ 

‘Auctoro medeis,’ Harry finished. The man stilled at once. For a moment, Harry thought he had finally died. Before he could check, there was a sensation in the fingers on his wand hand. It shot up his arm and into him. It wasn’t very strong at all, but it was unmistakable. Pure magic. Harry shuddered, then pushed it from his mind to check the man’s condition.

When he leaned forward, he could see the man was breathing, thank Merlin. ‘Um, Mr? Can you hear me?’ He glanced down at the bandage, then up again at the seemingly sleeping man. Putting away his wand, he slowly removed the bloody rags by hand. Eventually, he could see the Mark, once he cleaned off the blood. It looked perfectly ordinary. Apart from all the scratch marks, it was no longer red or inflamed. Harry let out a breath, wondering what he should do now. 

It worked, didn’t it? 

He leaned over the man again, and he did appear to be sleeping. His chest rose and fell steadily. Perhaps he had simply fallen asleep now that the pain was finally gone? Harry felt all the fear and stress leave him in a whoosh, just as quickly as it had seized upon him. He felt like he was intruding, so he left the room, leaning against the hallway wall, staring out into space. He should be horrified, and delighted, at the same time. He had found a cure, but it held terrifying implications. Instead of feeling either emotion, they seemed to cancel each other out. 

‘Harry!’ Ron and Hermione were hurrying towards him, stopping short when they noticed his vacant expression. ‘Harry?’ Hermione repeated uncertainly. ‘What did you do?’ 

‘I healed him,’ Harry said, jerking a thumb behind himself at the door. Hermione glanced between it and him, before running inside. Ron stayed, eyeing Harry up and down, probably wondering if he should offer comfort or warnings. After a few minutes Hermione emerged with a similar vacant look. 

‘He’s sleeping,’ she said. ‘His Mark is dormant.’ 

‘How did you do it?’ Ron asked. 

‘I repeated the oath,’ Harry shrugged. 

‘Harry!’ Hermione admonished. ‘How could you just-! I can’t believe you-’ She struggled with the words, mostly because they all knew that the results spoke for themselves, and she had just been telling Harry how he was not the Dark Lord. ‘Did you feel anything?’ Harry looked away and nodded stiffly. ‘What did it feel like?’ 

‘A bit of his magic shot into me,’ Harry said. ‘It was tiny, insignificant almost. It lasted maybe a second.’ 

They all fell silent. Harry tried not to imagine the public’s reaction when word got out. 

‘We can’t tell anyone about this,’ Hermione said. Harry and Ron both looked at her surprised. ‘This is not something they will understand.’ 

‘I’m not sure I understand,’ Ron muttered. Hermione shot him a reproachful look. ‘Don’t look at me like that. I trust Harry, but if he’s suppose to do this to all the Death Eaters still alive, that’s a lot of power, for anyone. And what happens ten years from now?’ 

‘I suspect it will all repeat itself,’ Hermione said quietly. ‘It’s quite brilliant, magically speaking. Voldemort slowly steals a person’s magic, a tiny bit every ten years under the pretext of renewing their loyalties. They would die before they felt drained enough to notice anything amiss. And Voldemort, effectively immortal with the horcruxes, could recruit new Death Eaters indefinitely until he became all powerful. He did plan on ruling the world. This was how.’ 

Harry did not think that sounded the least bit brilliant. 

Ron reached out to steady him. Harry hadn’t even realised he had been swaying. ‘Look, mate, we’ve got ten years to figure out how to break the Oath, right? Besides, you’re not immortal. You’re not him.’ 

Harry nodded jerkily, taking a deep breath through his nostrils. He could do this. It was just words - the tiny amounts of magic wouldn’t make a significant impact, surely? Besides, he was saving lives, not enslaving them. 

‘There’s just one problem,’ Ron said, interrupted the silence. ‘Keeping this a secret while saving these people is going to be impossible.’ 

‘Then we try for as long as we can, starting right now,’ Hermione said determinedly. 

‘Draco,’ Harry said, setting off running to his room, not even waiting to see if the others followed. Draco was sitting up in bed, eyes closed, one hand over the bandaged Mark. It looked like he was willing himself not to scratch at it. He opened his eyes when Harry entered, and his face contorted in anger. 

‘Get out-’

‘It worked. I cured one of the others.’ 

Draco blinked several times. Hermione and Ron burst into the room. 

‘Draco,’ Hermione said, probably desperate to explain things in a more scientific manner before Harry said anything. ‘We believe Harry and Voldemort’s connection means Harry can put the Mark to sleep again.’

‘Explain,’ Draco demanded. Hermione did so as quickly as she could. Draco’s eyes widened as he realised the implications, staring at Harry with an unreadable expression. Harry stared back pleadingly. He couldn’t make Draco say the words, but he had to, for Scorpius if no one else. 

When Hermione ended with the warning that they had to keep it secret, Harry jumped in before Draco could say no. 

‘It won’t really mean anything,’ he said. ‘It’s just a cure, and a tiny amount of magic, and we’ll find a way to remove the Mark after, I swear. Please, Draco-’

‘Do it.’ Draco held out his arm. ‘Go on,’ he urged when Harry just stared at him. Harry quickly fumbled out his wand and placed the tip on Draco’s bandage, clearing his throat awkwardly in the silence. 

‘Auctoro probare.’ 

‘Should I just-?’

‘Just swear,’ Harry said. 

‘Right,’ Draco cleared his throat, staring at his arm. ‘I swear allegiance to Harry Potter.’ That hadn’t been exactly what Harry had had in mind, and it sounded all kinds of wrong, but he supposed it had to work just as well. 

‘Auctoro medeis,’ he finished, and this time the little surge of magic was accompanied with a gasp of pain from Draco. He withdrew his arm sharply, cradling it. Hermione stepped forward, pushing in past Harry to examine her patient. 

‘That didn’t happen last time,’ Harry said, worried he had done something wrong this time. ‘The first one just fell asleep.’ 

‘He was probably in too much pain to feel it,’ Hermione said as he unwrapped Draco’s arm. ‘It’s logical the extraction would cause some pain.’

‘How much magic do you think it was?’ Draco asked, but before Hermione could speculate, his arm was revealed. The Mark was its old dark green self. Draco gasped and covered his mouth with his free hand, swallowing back a sob. 

‘Do you feel any pain?’ Hermione asked. 

‘No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘But I’m on a lot of potion right now.’ 

‘I’ll bring you an antidote, and some ointment.’ Hermione hurried from the room. Ron muttered something about helping her, and left the two alone quickly. 

Draco continued to stare at his arm. Harry shuffled his feet a bit. He opened his mouth to say something, perhaps offer comfort, or an apology, but Draco spoke first, this tone clipped. 

‘I did it for Scorpius,’ he said. 

‘Of course-’

‘I know you won’t-... _abuse_ the fact that I am, magically speaking, your servant.’

‘You are not my servant,’ Harry said, disgusted by the idea. Draco wouldn’t look at him, he realised. ‘This was just a cure.’ 

‘I know, but it feels like a punishment, or a penance.’ 

‘What do you mean?’ 

‘All this time, living in the muggle world,’ Draco spoke haltingly. ‘I thought, at least I have Scorpius, and at least I’m free.’ 

‘Draco-’ 

‘I know you’re not him.’ 

Harry wished he could believe him. Hermione returned just then with the potions, and soon Draco was pain free and his arm was completely healed. He stroked over the old tattoo with a sigh of relief. 

‘I have to get home,’ he said. 

‘You should rest until tomorrow, at least,’ Hermione urged, but Draco was already pushing himself out of bed. 

‘No, I have to see Scorpius.’ 

‘I can take you home,’ Harry offered. ‘I’ll make sure he’s resting before I leave,’ he promised. Hermione nodded her consent, despite her reservations. She would handle the paperwork. Draco was weak from his time in the hospital, and didn’t hesitate to take Harry’s arm, though he still did not look him in the eye. 

Harry was acutely aware of every point of contact for some reason. Words escaped him. The situation felt suffocating. 

Once in the lobby, he apparated them directly to Draco’s garden. He got Draco on the couch, with a blanket and a glass of water. He was just making sure Draco’s feet were wrapped up good, in case he got cold. 

‘I’ll go get Scorpius.’ 

‘Thank you.’ 

‘Don’t mention it.’ 

‘I don’t intend to.’ Harry looked up sharply from his task and caught Draco’s stare. He nodded. 

‘Thanks.’ 

He went to the door. 

‘See you in ten years, then?’ Draco called after him. Harry stopped short, hand on the door knob. He came round the sofa again to look at him. Draco’s tone wasn’t as cold as before. He sounded almost sad.

‘We’ll find a proper cure before then.’ 

‘Right, but if you don’t, I suppose I won’t see you until next time, assuming Granger’s theory is correct.’ 

When Harry didn’t say anything, and continued to stare at him in confusion. Draco prompted him by raising his eyebrows in question. Harry’s shook his head. 

‘Sorry, I just thought you’d be more angry about all this. I did take some of your magic.’

‘I think I’m still in shock,’ Draco mused. ‘But it’s not like I’m going to need it.’ 

Harry frowned at that. Draco, for some reason, smiled in response. 

‘See you in a decade then.’ 

‘I’ll probably come by, check up on you, on Hermione’s behalf and stuff.’ 

‘Good. I mean, that’s fine.’ 

Harry nodded slowly, then when Draco didn’t say anything more, he hurried out to get Scorpius from next door, feeling more confused than ever about Draco’s mood swings, but still somehow hopeful. 

He didn’t stay for the reunion. That was too personal. Besides, he had a whole ward of people to cure. 

Cure was perhaps not the best word, and it wasn’t going to be as easy as the first two. Draco might have been calm about it once he realised Harry wasn’t insane, but the other Death Eaters were not as enthusiastic about a possible cure. Many of them refused to believe it, or thought Harry was putting them under a new vow. By the next morning, they had managed to cure only a dozen of them. The nurses knew something was up, and Harry knew they had to get the word out that they had a cure, so other sufferers could come in. That did not mean he wanted to tell the world how he was doing it. 

After a few hours rest, Harry ignored Hermione’s insistence on more sleep, and headed for Azkaban. That proved even more futile. He had never considered those still loyal to Voldemort would rather die than swear to him. 

He gave up around lunch, feeling useless and drained, despite having technically gained magic, but he couldn’t think about that. 

He decided it was time to go home and sleep for eight hours straight. No one was likely to die before morning. They could work on convincing the others tomorrow. Despite fearing he would have nightmares about this whole thing, he slept like the dead. 

He only got six hours, however, as he was awoken at an ungodly hour by hard knocking on the door. Had Mrs. Black still hung on the wall, she would have been screeching. 

Since the knock sounded a bit ominous, Harry got dressed quickly before coming down. Shacklebolt himself was outside, along with four top Aurors, who all had their wands drawn. 

‘Minister?’ 

‘Mr. Potter, please relinquish your wand and come with us.’ 

‘What? Why?’ 

‘I think you know why. You’re not being charged yet, but you need to come in for questioning about this “cure” of yours.’ 

Harry didn’t know what to say. The full impact of what he had done had yet to really hit him, but he had never imagined this reaction.

‘Minister-’ 

‘Don’t say anything more, Harry, please, just come with us.’ 

They were interrupted by the apparition pop of Ron. ‘Weasley, I told you to stay at the office,’ Shacklebolt barked. Ron ignored him. 

‘Hermione said to just go with him and we’ll figure it out later, but don’t say anything.’ 

‘One more word, Weasley, and I will have your badge!’ 

‘I’ll come quietly,’ Harry said, holding up his hands. ‘Take my wand.’ He allowed Shacklebolt to summon it. He was led away, thankfully not handcuffed, to a holding cell in the Ministry sub-levels. 

The walls were stone, being one of the first levels to have been built back when the Ministry mostly dealt with criminal cases. There was a fairly comfortable bed, a sink, and a loo. Harry had escorted many a criminal awaiting trial into one of the cells. 

It wasn’t until he was alone with his thoughts that it occurred to him Shacklebolt might decide to keep him in here until all the other Death Eaters were dead. 

XXX

Draco was shaken awake by Scorpius. 

‘Father, there’s an owl for you,’ he said. Draco opened his eyes blearily. He hadn’t gotten a good night’s rest since before this whole ordeal began. He almost snapped at Scorpius for waking him. ‘It’s from Healer Weasley. She says Auror Potter’s been arrested!’ That certainly did the trick.


	8. The Command

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a life-time. The blame goes to my other story, which I'm still struggling with. In the end I decided to try to finish this to get out of my writing block. Hope you still enjoy this!

‘Give me the letter.’ Scorpius handed it over and Draco squinted at it. It was clear Healer Weasley’s hand had been shaking when she wrote it, but the meaning was clear. Harry was being detained for questioning over the Oath. 

He pushed himself up, groaning at his protesting body. It was weak from his prolonged stay in the hospital. Scorpius hovered. 

‘Get me a Restorative and a Nutrient potion from downstairs. I think I can manage to make a cup of tea. Is the owl still here?’ 

‘Yes, it’s sitting on the fence in the back garden.’ 

‘Good.’ Draco pushed himself up and allowed his blood to circulate properly before daring to step away from the couch. Once Scorpius saw that he could walk on his own, he hurried down to the potions cellar. Draco made it to the kitchen, put on the kettle, and sat down to write a reply. He told Healer Weasley he would give whatever testimony needed to help Harry. 

He was still sitting at the kitchen table, eating a sandwich Scorpius had made him from food borrowed from Mr. Keller, when the owl returned. Healer Weasley wrote that the Ministry was stalling, not letting anyone see Harry or making any attempt to interrogate or investigate him. The only thing that could truly solve the situation was if they found a better and permanent cure, removing the reason for the Ministry’s delay. 

Draco rubbed at his mark as he thought about it. He was now beholden to Harry, and the fact that he wasn’t horrified at the thought was of great concern to him. He hadn’t explained it all to Scorpius, but if they couldn’t find a permanent cure then he would have to, at least before another ten years passed. 

Along with the letter, Healey Weasley had sent along the Daily Prophet. 

_Auror Potter detained in Death Eater Case. Minister’s Office silent._

The public wouldn’t stand for their hero to be locked up without reason for long, even if he had received criticism for his handling of the Dark Mark cases. Hopefully, Shacklebolt would have to cave before more people died. 

After tea, food and potions, Draco felt recovered enough to force himself into action. He told Scorpius to go to Mr. Keller’s, then went downstairs where he kept his most illegal books and potions. After gathering what tomes might prove most interesting, he ordered a taxi and took it all the way to London. 

St. Mungo’s seemed oblivious that there was an entire ward of people dying due to the Minister’s prejudices. Draco made his way to Healer Weasley’s office without being stopped. 

She looked more haggard than Draco had seen her yet, but she actually smiled and looked grateful to see him. ‘Are you feeling well enough to be out and about?’ She urged him to sit down and started making tea. 

‘I’m well enough, thanks to Harry. I brought some books I thought you might not have, and I’m here to help.’ 

‘That’s- Thank you.’ Draco ignored the way her hand shook as she set the cup of tea down in front of him. ‘I’m hitting so many dead ends.’ She sat down hard, pushing her hair out of her face. She started shuffling through her scrolls, muttering about all the different avenues they had researched. Draco found himself reaching forward and stilling her hand with his own. She looked up. 

‘Why don’t you check on your patients, then floo Weasley to check for news from Harry, and I’ll go through your notes and see where we might look next.’ She nodded, thanked him, and did as suggested. Draco sighed and sat in her chair, starting in on the top scroll. 

XXX 

Harry’s head snapped up when he head footsteps outside coming down the hallway. He stood, but kept against the far wall, waiting for his visitor. The door opened and to his relief Ron slipped inside. There was a muttered “ten minutes” from behind him, and then the door closed behind him. 

‘Hey mate,’ Ron said, handing over a small packet. ‘Brought a sandwich, thought it might be better than what you get in here.’ 

‘Thanks, how’s Malfoy and the others?’ Harry sat down and ripped open the food. 

‘I haven’t heard from him, but Hermione checked in asking about you. She says things are bad, but that no one is likely to die today.’ 

‘And tomorrow?’ 

Ron shrugged. Harry sighed and put down the sandwich, all appetite gone. 

‘How long do you think Shacklebolt is going to hold me?’ 

‘The full 48 hours probably. I haven’t met with him, but word in the office is that there is no word. He hasn’t been seen, not even by his secretary.’ 

‘You have to talk to him.’ 

‘I know, but I can’t run in there and demand your release.’ Ron sighed, leaning agains the wall. ‘I want him to think of you down here, let him feel the hours passing a little.’ Ron was always the better of them in the interrogation room, and despite Harry’s anxiety he knew he had to trust Ron in this. ‘He’s not evil, he’s just confused at the moment.’ 

‘I know. It’s all the bloody politics.’

‘Anything you want me to tell Hermione?’ 

‘No, just that I’m fine. Will you check on Draco for me?’ 

‘Of course.’ Ron gave him an odd look, but left it at that. 

XXX 

Draco had gone over Healer Weasley’s research and his own memory of the Vow so many times his brain hurt. He knew he wasn’t going to have any epiphany in his current state. Healer Weasley had never returned to her office, not even during lunch, but Draco had heard a lot of coming and going out in the hallway, so he presumed she was busy doing actual healing work. 

He left a note on her desk saying he had to go home for the day, but that he would be back early to discuss things. He slipped out of St. Mungo’s without incident, but hesitated as the cab he hailed pulled up. 

Instead of the train station he asked for the adress of the Ministry. He hadn’t entered the horrid place in years, mostly due to the constant judgement. He had cultivated a life of “priorities” with Scorpius and his work for the Trust being at the top. Worrying about his past, or the judgement of his old peers, had been banished from his life. Entering the Atrium again brought it all back. The trial, his magic ban, and every stupid choice recited for the court transcript. 

The first tier of security was still the worst: the wand check. The young secretary asked what department he wanted, not looking up from a book she was reading. Judging by her pink robes and nailpolish, Draco did not have high hopes for the book’s literary value. 

‘Ministry Jail.’ 

She lifted her head at this, probably because she knew exactly who was in the jail at the moment. She frowned at him as if trying to remember if she knew him. He must look a sight, he realised, with his weight loss, frumpy button-down and slacks, and the dark circles under his eyes.   
‘Wand please,’ she said. 

‘I don’t have one.’ Her eyebrows rose to her hairline. 

‘Muggles-’ 

‘I’m not a muggle.’ Draco sighed, telling himself to be patient. It had been a while since he had had to deal with the beauracracy in person. He could get through it. ‘My name is Draco Malfoy.’ 

She recognised the name, and withdrew her hands from her book, placing them on her lap as if she were afraid Draco would curse her. He had just said he was wandless, but she still leaned slightly back in her chair, eyes wide. 

‘One moment,’ she squeaked, then waved one of the stationed Aurors to come over. Draco took another breath. He was submitted to a search, then questions. The moment he said he was trying to visit Harry Potter, the Auror was immediately suspicious, but luckily he didn’t arrest Draco outright. Eventually, he grew frustrated with Draco’s vague, but technically not-vague-enough answers to give a firm pronouncement: 

‘I’m afraid Auror Potter is not awailable for visitation, to anyone.’ Draco actually believed him, which meant they weren’t just dismissing him due to his identity. Still, he could have just said without the interrogation. 

‘Is there any way you could tell him I was here?’ Draco asked as nicely as he could. The Auror, who looked far too young to be one in Draco’s mind, actually frowned in sympathy. ‘He would want to know, I promise.’ Draco had no idea, but for some reason it was vitally important Harry knew Draco had at least tried to see him. 

‘I’ll tell him.’ 

‘Thank you,’ Draco said sincerely and left quickly. At home he barely got Scorpius some food before he had to go rest on the sofa. His mind swirled with all he had read on the Vow and Healer Weasley’s theories. 

Without removing it, the Mark would awaken every ten years, seemingly only requiring a renewing of loyalties, a simple formality, like renewing your licence. Most magical bindings were taxing on one’s magical resources, so the fatigue wasn’t unprecedented. Who could suspect that a little fatigue was actually the result of an almost insignificant amount of magic being taken? Once every ten years, for dozens of followers - with more joining every year - over the Dark Lord’s own planned life-span of _forever_ , amounted to unimaginable power. Draco had to be impressed. He had never considered the Dark Lord a patient creature. 

He felt certain, like Healer Wealsey, that the Dark Lord had based his Vow on some older oath or binding. It seemed like his way of thinking, but none of the magical binding Weasley had researched had proved similar enough to prove interesting. 

The key would be found in some ancient binding. All he had to do was find it, probably in some place too dark for Healer Weasley to even know about. 

‘Dad, don’t you want to go upstairs to bed?’ Scorpius hovered next to the sofa. He was putting on a brave face, but the ordeal had to have effected him more than he was letting on. 

‘I’m fine here,’ Draco said, trying to smile. He reached out and Scorpius took his hand, squeezing tightly. Draco’s Mark was exposed and Scorpius looked down at it pensively. Draco resisted the urge to withdraw his hand. 

‘How did he do it?’ 

‘It’s very complicated magic,’ Draco said, far too tired to really think about how to explain, how much to explain, and if Scorpius was old enough to understand. ‘I told you how Harry and the Dark Lord were connected, right?’ Scorpius nodded. ‘Well, it means Harry can control the Mark, and he told it to stop hurting me.’ 

Scorpius frowned and Draco eventually had to let go, letting his arm flop down. He was fighting to keep his eyes open. He felt Scorpius cover him with a blanket. 

‘Can’t he tell it to go away then?’ Scorpius asked softly. 

XXX 

Hermione was worried. Draco’s letter said he would come in early, but it was almost lunch and he was nowhere to be seen. She really wanted his help with the research, but leaving now to go look for him might put someone’s life in jeopardy. In the end, she knew that making sure Draco was all right was important enough for their work to apparate to Cantebury. 

She knocked on his front door, but no one answered. Mr. Keller was home, however. He gave her robes an odd look, but seemed happy enough to answer her question about where Draco was. 

‘I think he and Scorpius went to the heritage site. They left in an awful hurry about a few hours ago.’ 

‘The heritage site? The one Draco is trying to save?’ 

‘That’s the one. I think the powers that be are making it difficult for him, poor lad.’ 

‘Could you tell me exactly where the site is?’ 

Mr. Keller showed her on the map on his phone, and she thanked him before hurrying off to apparate. Why had Draco decided the heritage site was more important than saving lives? There must be some reason - or perhaps he had gotten confused or forgetful due to his illness. But then surely Scorpius would set him right? 

She arrived at the edge of a grassy hill. Along the bottom ran a row of semi-attached brick houses. Up along the western flank was a row of trees, but otherwise the place seemed unremarkable. She couldn’t see either Malfoy, so she followed a small desire-path up towards the top. Soon a figure’s head came into view, unmistakably blond, followed by a shorter person. At the top of the hill was a wide flat area that had been excavated in three long trenches. The other side of the hill was much the same as the one she had walked up, with the row of houses going halfway round before running off in a northernly direction, leaving a wide empty area ripe for houses with a view. 

Scorpius was sitting on a egg-shaped rock half buried in the earth, while Malfoy was staring at the trenches. 

‘Healer Weasley,’ Scorpius greeted when he spotted her, hopping off the rock and hurrying over. ‘Dad’s got an idea.’ 

‘I see. An idea about what?’ she asked as they approached Draco, who hadn’t moved. 

‘About the Vow, and I helped!’ Hermione smiled at him, glad he seemed fine despite the trauma the family had gone through. She came to stand beside Draco, staring into the trenches, trying to see what he saw. It was then she felt the magic in the air. Had she been standing in the middle of Diagon Alley she wouldn’t have given it a second thought - everything was magical there, it was impossible to get away from it. Here, in the middle of nowhere, it felt out of place. Unexpected. 

‘Could you do a revealing charm for active enchantments?’ 

Hermione jumped slightly at Draco’s voice, but quickly got out her wand. Her charm produced no effects, which made her realise the magic had to be _in_ the earth, not some spell a witch or wizard had performed on the area. 

‘Are you familiar with using the Aparecium charm to reveal destroyed structures?’ Hermione had read of such uses, but had never had the need to do it. She did so now. 

Purple smoke shot out of her wand, shooting in a circle round the edge of the hilltop. Every ten steps or so smoke rose up from the ground into the shape of stones very similar to the one Scorpius was back to sitting on. Some were higher, a couple were barely knee-high. Only Scorpius’ rock was inside the circle, slightly off-centre. The smoke lingered for a few more seconds before dissipating. 

‘Incredible,’ Hermione said. 

‘Yes, unfortunately the muggles have found nothing of interest. They dug what they could, ran out of time and funding, and declared the area free to develop. The only way to stop it is if they find something while building to warrant attention. But that is unlikely as magical rituals don’t leave much evidence that muggle archaeologists are likely to recognise.’ The stones had all once stood outside of the trenches, so the muggles had not even found their physical imprints. 

‘Draco, this is all very fascinating, and I wish I could help, but what does any of this have to do with the Vow?’ 

He turned to face her, and lifted his arm. She glanced down, surprised to find his Mark exposed. ‘It tingles here,’ he said. ‘I thought it was because it had awoken, but it’s not. I still feel it now. It’s sensitve to this kind of magic. Ancient, ritualistic.’ 

Hermione looked out over the trenches again, trying to see the place as it once might have been. A circle of magical stones, encasing and enhancing the natural magicks of the earth. Wizards and witches gathering to make spells through not only words but action, writing and chanting, using the most basic magical ingredients, including blood. 

‘People came here to make vows,’ Draco said. ‘We picture things like marriages, oaths of loyalty to chiefs, blessing the newly born or honouring the dead.’ 

‘And when they broke vows?’ 

‘I don’t recall reading anything about it, but Harry is strong. Stronger than the Dark Lord ever was, I believe. If the Dark Lord could make a new binding, then Harry can break it.’ 

‘Here, you mean?’ 

‘It’s the best place to try.’ Hermione had to agree. It seemed fitting, poetic. Voldemort always liked old magic, but old like Slytherin, not the nameless druids that came before. If he had invoked old magic, maybe even older magic could undo it. They had no other leads, so it was certainly worth a try, but there was still a problem. 

‘We need to get Harry out of jail,’ Hermione said. 

‘You need to ask Weasley to take care of that. We need to test this now before we waste more time.’ 

‘I’ll go now. Do you want me to apparate you home?’ 

‘No, we’ll take the bus,’ Draco said. ‘Mr. Keller doesn’t need us coming and going without him seeing it. But do come pick us up when you have Harry.’ 

‘Of course.’ Hermione said goodbye to Scorpius and apparated to the Ministry. 

XXX

The door to his cell opened. It was past visiting hours, not that he got any. Ron appeared, simply nodding his head to get Harry to come out. Harry followed Ron out and down the hallway towards the lifts. The Auror who usually sat at the desk by the end of the row of cells was abscent. 

Once in the lifts Ron handed Harry his wand and his Auror robes. Harry put them on before asking questions. 

‘Shacklebolt?’ 

‘Called in a few favours, leaned on a few loyalties. Shacklebolt shouldn’t be the wiser until he goes home for the night.’ 

‘Good. Did you find Goyle?’ 

‘He’s waiting outside.’ Ron was frowning, but he was trying not to object to Harry’s plan. He succeeded for about half a minute before turning to Harry. ‘Why the hell are you doing this? You’ll go to Azkaban.’ 

‘A lot more people will go to their grave if I don’t, Ron. We have to try.’ 

‘I had Shacklebolt this close!’ Ron indicated by pinching his fingers. ‘If you’d just give me a little more time.’ 

‘Not one more day, Ron. Not one more needless death. I’m sorry.’ The doors opened and they marched out across the Atrium together, pretending nothing was out of the ordinary. 

They found Goyle outside, looking out of place next to the London traffic. He was shuffling his feet, looking pale and agitated. ‘Does it hurt?’ was Harry’s first question. Goyle nodded tightly, unusually stoic. 

They apparated to the location Hermione had provided. Harry started jogging up the hill the moment he spotted Hermione and the Malfoys. Scorpius waved hello and Draco actually smiled slightly. 

‘Potter,’ he greeted. Harry wanted to reach out and steady him. He was far too pale to be out of bed already. Draco’s eyes flickered over Harry’s shoulder, widening in surprise. ‘Greg?’ 

‘Hullo Draco,’ Goyle greeted. ‘Sorry for not keeping touch.’ Draco merely nodded to that, looking him over for signs of discomfort. 

‘Your Mark, is it?’ 

‘Started itching just this morning.’ Goyle rubbed at the spot. He looked a bit green. He caught sight of Scorpius and stared at the boy. Scorpius stared right back. 

‘This is my son, Scorpius,’ Draco introduced. 

‘Hullo,’ Goyle repeated. 

Harry had turned away from the little group to survey the trenches. He felt the magic in the earth acutely. It vibrated through is feet up into his body, straight to his fingertips. For a moment he felt like he could do anything. 

He didn’t hear Hermione’s voice until she touched his shoulder. She received a static shock, jumping slightly. 

‘Harry?’ 

‘I’m fine. Do you have the words?’ 

‘I do, but remember, the wording is only to focus your intent.’ 

‘I know, it’s my spell. Don’t worry, Hermione. If anyone can make it by the seat of their pants...’ She wasn’t comforted, but she tried to smile. Harry read the little bit of parchment with the words. Hermione and Draco had chosen it together to be a reversal of the Vow, based on known unbinding spells. But it was really up to Harry to embrace the place, the ritual of it all, and trust in his willpower to release the marked. 

‘Me first,’ Draco said. 

‘But you’re sick,’ Goyle protested. 

‘My Mark isn’t active. If the spell goes wrong yours might… react.’ This was enough to get Goyle to take a step back. Everyone except Harry and Draco moved outside of where the ring of stones had once been. 

Harry and Draco stood on the small bit of grass between two of the trenches. This meant they were quite close, and Harry could see exactly how pale and thin Draco was, with bags under his eyes. He still looked up at Harry with more confidence than Harry felt. ‘Ready?’ he asked. 

He presented his arm. Harry stared for a long time at the Mark. He touched it gently. It was warm. It looked different to him now for some reason. Before the thing had always been disgusting to him, but now he felt like it belonged there. 

Harry retracted his hand as if burnt, taking a step back, almost into the trench. He slipped backwards, but was stopped by Draco yanking his robes. 

‘Are you all right?’ Draco asked when they were steady again. Harry felt his cheeks heat up at his silly reaction. 

‘Yeah, fine.’ 

‘What happened?’ 

‘Nothing- just-’ Harry swallowed and stared at the Mark, analysing his feelings. It was his Mark now, he realised. The thought made him want to vomit, but he had to make sense of it. If he was the owner, for lack of a better word, then he could renounce his ownership just as easily as Voldemort had taken it. 

‘I’m ready,’ he said, lifting Draco’s arm with one hand and placing the tip of his wand on the Mark. Either Draco was too nervous or too surprised by Harry’s sudden confidence to say anything. In either case, his arm was limp in Harry’s grip. 

Harry closed his eyes and focused on the magic in the earth, letting it flow up and through him. When he said the spell, his mind was completely focused. He knew exactly what he wanted. Beneath his conscious desire, his felt hundreds of years worth of oaths and rituals performed through generations. 

‘ _Libera servus._ ’ 

Draco took in a sharp breath, but it didn’t sound like he was in pain. 

‘I release you from your Vow.’ The snake started curling, twitching as if it was in pain. It bared its fangs. 

‘ _Ruptura votum._ ’ Harry took a deep breath and looked up to catch Draco’s eyes. ‘I set you free.’ 

The snake stilled as though dead. Slowly, the Mark’s ink seemed to be sucked up into Harry’s wand. In less than ten seconds, Draco’s arm was as blemish free as when he was born. 

Harry let go and Draco smoothed his hand over the spot. He looked wide-eyed at Harry. 

‘You did it. Bloody hell, you actually did it.’ Harry felt a grin spreading. In a fit of relief he embraced Draco. It was only for a few seconds, but it sent his heartrate soaring. Then Scorpius was there and it became a group hug. 

Hermione came over to check on Draco. She couldn’t find any trace of the binding. Before Harry knew it he was standing in the same spot with Goyle. It was different this time. The Mark was just starting its agitation. It wasn’t like Draco’s, but Harry knew he could command this one as well, and he did. Goyle thanked him so much Hermione had to insist they leave. 

‘We have to get to St. Mungo’s and get to work. I have your invisibility cloak here.’ 

‘Invisibility cloak?’ Draco asked. ‘Why do you need that?’ Harry exchanged a guilty look with Hermione. ‘Harry?’ 

‘Look, I’ll explain later. We really need to go.’ 

Goyle promised to apparate Draco home and make sure he got some rest. Harry put on his old cloak and went to St. Mungo’s. He wondered if he should have started with Azkaban once he saw Shacklebolt hurrying down the corridor, looking thunderous. The Minister kept checking rooms, but once he spotted Hermione and Ron, he headed straight for them. 

‘Weasley and Weasley,’ he greeted. ‘Where the hell is Potter?’ 

‘I thought he was in jail, Minister?’ Hermione asked innocently. 

‘Don’t pretend you weren’t involved. I thought he would be here of all places when I didn’t find him in Azakaban. Why isn’t he here helping these people?’ 

Hermione blinked. ‘Helping?’ 

‘That’s why he broke out of jail, isn’t it? Yet there are plenty here still in pain.’

Ron and Hermione glanced at each other. 

‘Sir,’ Ron said. ‘Harry wants to help. In fact, he has a way now of removing the Mark completely.’ 

‘How?’ Shacklebolt demanded. 

‘An unbinding spell,’ Hermione said. 

‘Well, get him here and get him to work.’ 

‘But-’ 

‘Look, I’ll sign his release papers and fiddle with the time-stamp a bit, make it look like I signed him out,’ Shacklebolt said. ‘We can put the nasty business behind us as long as he empties this ward today, understood?’ 

‘Yes, Sir. Consider it done.’ 

As Shacklebolt hurried past, they saw how disturbed he looked. Ron had been right. All Shacklebolt had needed was to see the actual patients instead of lists of Death Eater names. He turned before entering the lift. 

‘And Weasley,’ Shacklebolt sighed. ‘Tell Potter I would appreciate it if he came by my office after everything’s done. I’d like to apologise.’ 

‘Will do, Sir. I’m sure Harry will be relieved to put this all behind us.’ Shacklebolt said goodbye and when the lift door closed Harry took off his cloak. 

‘Thank Merlin for that,’ he said. 

‘We should start with those most in need. It’ll be difficult to move some of them-’ 

‘We don’t need to move them,’ Harry said. ‘I can remove the Mark without the circle.’ He wasn’t sure why he knew that, but when he left Cantebury he had taken the confidence and magic of the place with him. He could command all the Marks away.


	9. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. Yes, I'm alive. :) 
> 
> A big thank you to SwampWitchery for commeting and reminding me that this story was without an epilogue. :)

Harry let the door close behind him and leaned back against it with a sign that stole his last strength. He wasn't finished, but those in danger were out of it. He hoped it would be enough to appease Shacklebolt. Besides, Hermione's voice had begun to remind him of McGonagall, and that was a sure sign it was time to leave. 

Ten hours later he was rudely awoken by a polite knocking on the door. He realised he hadn't made it upstairs, and his back hurt like hell from the sofa. He groaned as he hobbled like an old man to the door and opened it a crack, glaring out into the sunlight. 

Two Malfoys stood on his front steps, one bouncing cheerfully with a basket, the other looking far too tired to be up and about. 

'What are you doing here?' Harry asked, opening the door wide. Draco frowned, and Scorpius stopped bouncing. 'Sorry, that didn't come out right. I only meant you should be in bed.' 

'I'm fine,' Draco said, adjusting his shirt a bit. 'Scorpius insisted we come over with some food. I checked with Healer Weasley and she said you would be mad if they allowed you to sleep any longer, so we volunteered to get you ready.' 

'Ready? Wait, how long have I been out?' Harry checked his watch and cursed. Scorpius raised an eyebrow. 'Sorry, uh, come in then.' 

He led the way to the kitchen, where he was forced into a chair while Draco and Scorpius laid out a very well-made breakfast. Everything from bacon and eggs to croissants. Harry's eyebrows rose as the basket kept producing more and more variants. He also realised the bag was heavy, because Draco could not have spelled it light. When he looked at Draco he noticed a distinct red blush creeping up the pale neck to his cheeks, making him look very... red. Harry felt his own face heat as if in commiseration. 

'We didn't know what you'd like,' Draco said. He had even brought tea in a muggle container. 

'The croissants are amazing,' Scorpius said. 'We usually only have them on Sundays, but today's special' 

'Special how?' Harry asked as he took one of the aforementioned treats. 

'You saved everyone, just like you promised.' 

'I think you and Draco, not to mention Hermione, did far, far more saving than me.' 

'Nonsense,' Draco said, pouring tea into Harry's old mugs, some of them cracked and badly mended, which made Harry embarrassed. 'No one else could have removed the marks.' 

'But I just said the words. You figured it all out. I should be bringing you breakfast in bed.' He hadn't meant that last part, and he accidentally caught Draco's eyes just as he said them. Draco's eyes seemed particularly wide and clear, perhaps because Harry had only seen them dull and in pain. With flushed skin and a pleased smile, for a moment Draco looked like he had been recovering for a week instead of a day. 'Uh, I mean- you know.' Harry gestured to the feast. 

'Well, you did save me, before I figured out anything at all. That part was all you.' The kitchen had to be getting warmer. 'Come on now,' Draco took pity on him. 'Eat up. I'm not letting you get back to work until you've finished.'

After he'd stuffed himself to bursting, and topped it up with tea, Harry felt ready to take on the rest of the Death Eaters. 

'You should probably have a shower first,' Draco mentioned as they put everything back in the basket. 'You stink.' Scorpius hid a laugh as Harry sniffed at himself. 

Embarrassment rising to new levels, Harry stepped away so it wouldn't be quite so offensive. He walked them to the door. 

'Thank you for breakfast,' Harry said. Draco turned in the doorway. He opened his mouth to say something, but Scorpius spoke up instead. 

'You should come to dinner. We're making Beef Wellington.' 

'Oh, erm-' Harry was sure Draco wouldn’t approve of Scorpius inviting him out of the blue. 

'Yes, do come,’ Draco said. 

'You've already made me breakfast.' Harry had no idea why he was arguing. 

'Please?' Scorpius winged, giving his best impression of a puppy dog. 

'I'm afraid he won't stop until you've agreed.' 

'All right, if you're sure?' 

'Excellent, see you at eight. No working late tonight.' Harry watched them walk down the front steps and begin down the street. When Draco glanced over his shoulder, Harry waved awkwardly at him and shut the door, his embarrassment burning to new unknown heights. 

He took the quickest, coldest shower he could manage and apparated to St. Mungo’s. Hermione was there, assuring him that the last of the patients understood he needed rest as well. They were functioning fine on pain potions. Harry would be able to clear out the ward before lunch. 

‘Have you seen the Prophet today?’ Hermione asked as they headed down the corridor to the first patient. She held up a copy: Harry Potter Removes Voldemort’s Last Legacy. 

‘Huh, that almost sounds good?’ 

‘I know, they’ve completely changed their tone, for the first half of the article, at least.’ 

‘How so?’ 

‘They emphasize several times that you haven’t cured those in Azkaban.’ 

‘What?! I’m going there the moment this ward is cleared!’ 

‘i know, it’s just their way of making you the hero while keeping their villains. I think once the Mark is gone for good, people will actually be able to move on.’ 

Harry stopped walking as a thought occurred to him. ‘Harry?’

‘We need a place for those too scared to come forward,’ he said. ‘Some place for marked Death Eaters to have it removed without anyone knowing they came for help.’

‘You’re right.’ Hermione looked upset she hadn’t thought of it herself. ‘Some of them might suffer in silence rather than expose their secret.’ 

Hermione and Harry continued to brainstorm possible options while he removed the last Marks in St. Mungo’s. Most were understandably so grateful they couldn’t express it. Some sobbed uncontrollably, some became almost catatonic, staring at their unblemished skin, but most simply fell asleep, pain free at last. The day before had been mostly the latter, since Harry had started with those closest to death. The last few were coherent and therefore more expressive. Harry tried to be accepting of their thanks, but such scenes had never gone well. He thought he might prefer the resentment he was likely to receive in Azkaban. 

After a quick lunch with Ron, it was decided that they would contact all the patients who had been in the ward and tell them to spread the message quietly to anyone they might know of who still had the mark. They could come to Hermione quietly and would receive help without prosecution. Having a mark was not a crime in itself, and Harry was determined that no more would suffer Juhlin’s fate. 

Shacklebolt caught up with him in Azkaban. 

‘Minister?’ Harry greeted, wondering if Shacklebolt had intended to enter the prison proper, or simply stand in the arrival courtyard all day waiting. 

‘Potter, I’m glad I caught you. I thought I might find you here. I was told St. Mungo’s is empty…?’ 

‘That’s correct.’ 

Shacklebolt sighed at Harry’s clipped tone. 

‘I have a letter for you, it should make it easier for you to get your wand inside to remove the Marks.’ Harry took the scroll without comment and read it over. The Warden wouldn’t like it, but he might agree just to get all the moaning to stop, and to stop the extra rounds for the pain potions. 

‘Is what all?’ Harry asked, pocketing the scroll. Shacklebolt looked genuinely sad, shaking his head in dismay. 

‘I know we won’t come back from this, you and I, Harry, but I want you to know I am sorry. I’ve managed to sweep your arrest away. Officially, you were let go without charges. I told the press it was a misunderstanding. I won’t be able to erase the record, of course, since it was front page news.’ 

‘I don’t care.’ Harry stepped around the Minister, about to walk up the steps to the enormous metal doors that sealed off the prison from the apparition zone. For some reason Draco came into his head. How would Draco handle the situation? He turned back to the Minister, who looked up hopefully from his shoes. 

‘Minister, I think I understand why you reacted the way you did. I don’t accept it, but… See, we don’t view the Death Eaters in the same light because I genuinely believe the Second War had far more forced followers than the first. I know the trials after Voldemort’s first fall were full of the likes of Lucius Malfoy, lying about being Imperiused, but... Draco never truly knew what he was getting into. I don’t even think he really believed in their ideology. I don’t agree that anyone should be prosecuted for their ideology instead of their actions, but I understand why people like you were upset about this whole situation.’ 

‘Thank you, Potter. That is far more understanding than I deserve.’ 

‘Tell the press we’ve done the right thing, will you?’

‘I will. I’ll make sure they know where I stand now, with you.’

Harry couldn’t help but smile. ‘I’m never running for office, Shacklebolt.’ The man cracked a smile, said something about never say never and apparated away. Harry knew he would never trust the man the same way again, but at least things had ended well. 

Azkaban’s prisoners were waiting, so he hurried through the doors. 

XXX

Harry had been thrown out of Azkaban at the end of visiting hours. He was utterly exhausted. Hermione was sure he wasn’t giving back any power, but Harry still felt like he had been wrung out like an old wash cloth. 

He came home to find an owl sitting on the fence in front of Grimmauld Place, with a letter. Harry recognised it as Poofy, Ron and Hermione’s owl. Harry took the letter and let the owl inside. It flew down to the kitchen in expectation of snacks. Harry wondered what Hermione could possibly be sending him mail for. When he ripped it open, however, he was met with Draco’s fine script. 

Harry 

Healer Weasley kindly sent Poofy to me after I met with her this afternoon. It occurred to me you might be too fatigued to come to dinner, and I wanted to make sure you didn’t come out of a sense of duty - I know how strong that sense is. If you don’t feel up to it, we can have dinner later in the week. 

Thank you again for everything,   
Draco 

Harry had, of course, completely forgotten, and he suspected Draco had known he would. He quickly fed the owl, scribbled a note that said he was on his way, and ran upstairs to change. 

He had never taken so long to change in his life. 

He arrived on the outskirts of Canterbury, feeling like he was going for a job interview for some reason. He walked briskly to the Malfoys’ door. Why on earth was he nervous all of a sudden? He had dressed in his nice jeans, a button down (one of the few he owned for special occasions) and a knitted v-neck sweater. Mrs. Weasley (senior) had gotten a lot better at knitting in her older days, and even Hermione had said it suited him, though that might only be because of its green colour. 

Maybe he was too formal looking? But Draco was the type to wear a button-down to work, so surely this was appropriate? He realised he had been so long in the wizarding world, Draco Malfoy might know better how to dress for the muggle world.

Then again, perhaps Draco expected him in robes, and was looking forward to a fully wizarding dinner?   
‘Harry?’ 

Draco had opened the door, but Harry realised he had never knocked. ‘I saw you from the window, are you all right? How long have you been standing here?’

‘Not long!’ Harry said. ‘Sorry, I got lost in thought for a second. Eh- Here, I got these, or rather, I had these-Not that I just keep them around to give away, they’re good, I’ve been saving them.’ Harry thrust the box of Honeydukes chocolates forward a bit too forcefully, and Draco almost dropped them, saving them at the last second. Harry muttered more apologies as Draco thanked him. 

‘Please, come inside, dinner’s almost ready.’ 

Draco sent Harry to the living room, where Scorpius waited. He was quite the host, it turned out, offering Harry a seat and asking how his day went. Harry suspected Draco had told him to entertain their guest while he finished the dinner. 

By the time they sat down at the tiny dining table in the kitchen, Harry was far more relaxed. The food was good, his fatigue from the day was almost gone. 

Draco asked about Azkaban. 

‘It went well. In fact it went a lot smoother than I thought it would thanks to Shacklebolt. He gave me a letter of authorization. He also apologised for the whole ordeal. I think he genuinely saw the error of his ways.’

‘Hmm,’ Draco sounded skeptical. ‘Has he told the press anything? I wouldn’t believe an apology from that man unless it was on record.’ Harry smiled at that, thinking Draco had a point. ‘Perhaps I might get some attention from him, now I’m going to be in the paper.’

‘What?’

‘The Prophet asked me a few questions,’ Draco shrugged. ‘I thought it might help my little cause if I got in a line in about my work. They probably won’t even mention it.’

‘God, I’m so sorry Draco, I completely forgot about the site- again. I’ll have a word with Shacklebolt tomorrow, I promise.’

‘No, you don’t have to Harry.’

‘I want you. I want to save the site too.’ 

Draco smiled, and it was so soft and genuine, and free of pain. 

Scorpius made a noise and Harry jumped slightly, realising he had been staring. ‘I’m full to bursting!’ Scorpius sighed in pleasure.

‘You’re free to go then,’ Draco said. ‘Harry can do the washing up with a flick of his wand, so you’re off duty.’ 

‘Oh, can I watch?’ Scorpius bounced with excitement at the prospect. Draco looked at Harry expectantly, gesturing to the food. Harry waved his wand and sent the dishes to wash themselves in the sink. Scorpius went over to the counter and stared at them for a while. 

Harry hadn’t sent the wine glasses (that would have been embarrassing), so Draco poured some more. After a while Scorpius got bored of the magic, and went upstairs to play a videogame. 

‘I’m coming up to put you to bed at ten,’ Draco called after him. 

‘He’s such a good kid,’ Harry remarked. 

‘The best. I don’t know how I made him,’ Draco chuckled self-deprecatingly. 

‘Don’t say that,’ Harry admonished softly. Draco looked away. The room suddenly felt off, like there was tension between them. It felt impossibly yet undeniably, like a date. 

The fact made Harry equal parts terrified and excited - perhaps a bit more excited. Unless Draco didn’t feel remotely the same, and why would he? What on earth was Harry thinking, that they could magically start their relationship over, that spending a week by his deathbed gave Harry some sort of insight? They didn’t really know each other at all. 

‘Harry? You’re lost in thought again, I think.’ 

‘Sorry, I was just…’ 

‘Thinking about whether this is insane or just plain stupid? I’ve been wondering that myself all day long.’ 

‘What?’ 

Draco couldn’t meet his eye, but he was leaning closer, speaking softly. The tiny table made things rather intimate. ‘This- whatever this is.' Harry held his breath as Draco gestured between them. 'Maybe I'm imagining things. Feel free to put me in my place, but-' Draco steeled himself, staring hard at the table while he almost whispered the last bit. 'I can’t wait ten years to see you again.’ 

The words made all kinds of emotions flutter inside Harry, making him a bit sick to his stomach, but in a good way. 

‘I don’t plan on staying away.’ 

Draco smiled, staring at Harry’s hand on the table, inches from his own. ‘Scorpius would like that. He fancies himself a bit of a matchmaker,’ Draco let out a laugh at the last word, as if he couldn’t let himself say it without laughing it away. 

Harry had never made a move before, not since his school days. Perhaps that was a result of his fame. People he tried to date always felt they had a right to him, or wanted to make sure they at least got a snog out of it. Harry had never had a first date without someone trying to snog him. Not that he always minded, of course. 

But he couldn’t do it. It would be far too soon, probably inappropriate, and it would be amazing. Years for now they would remember that first kiss in the tiny kitchen, with distant sounds of videogame gunfire and magical dishwashing. 

Instead of making a move, Harry tried to focus on the fact that Draco was smiling, blushing slightly, and looking healthier by the hour. Harry took a sip of his wine. 

Draco smoothly changed the subject then, and they spent a few hours going over their lives, avoiding the sad stuff. Draco told cute stories about Scorpius’ childhood. Harry told stories about the next generation of Weasleys and crazy stories from his Auror work. 

They sat talking and drinking until Scorpius suddenly stood in the doorway in his pyjamas. 

Yet still Harry did not go home. Draco put his son to bed and they moved their conversation to the living room. Harry didn’t leave until it was well after midnight, feeling too drunk to apparate, but doing it anyway. He fell asleep on his couch for the second time. 

XXX

Harry didn’t see Draco for almost a week. He finished removing the Mark, slowly going back to his regular duties. Draco’s interview appeared in the Prophet. It told the story like a detective mystery, a race against time, with Harry as the hero. Draco didn’t say that outright of course. In fact the interview made him look strong and long suffering, but humble. 

Harry thought about checking in with them, but he didn’t have a valid excuse until he received the news by memo from the Department of Magical Spaces, Buildings and Areas that the heritage site would be mapped and protected from muggle intervention. 

Harry rushed over, but found no one home. He apparated directly to the site and found Draco there alone, sitting on the rock. For a moment Harry was afraid for Scorpius, but then he realised the boy had to be in school. 

‘You heard?’ Harry asked as he approached a smiling Draco. 

‘Yes. Thank you for saving the day, again.’ 

Draco rose and they ended up standing rather close. ‘It was all your reports that did the trick, honestly, I just had to get them read by the right people.’ 

Draco shook his head. ‘For God's sake, would you please accept the thanks without argument for once?’ 

‘Sorry- I mean, you’re welcome.’ Harry smiled sheepishly. Draco leaned in, and Harry’s heart lept to his throat. He aimed to meet the kiss, only realising halfway that Draco had meant to kiss his cheek. Their lips met awkwardly, and Harry jerked back. ‘Sorry, sorry.’ 

Draco placed a hand on Harry’s cheek, forcing him back and planting a proper kiss on him. Harry sighed in relief and leaned into it, holding Draco around the waist. 

As they kissed the magic of the place swirled around them, cradling them, and making Harry’s nerves tingle even more. 

Draco broke the kiss with a breathy laugh. ‘Merlin, I hope we didn’t seal a new vow of some sort.’ 

‘I don’t think so, but we probably shouldn’t continue this here.’ 

‘Oh?’ Draco raised an eyebrow and Harry blushed. ‘Very well.’ Draco slung his arms around Harry’s neck. ‘Take me home, Potter.’ 

As soon as they disappeared, dozens of leaves and small rocks that had risen into the air suddenly tumbled to the ground, and the place lay dormant. 

The End


End file.
